


The Trojan Horse

by MellowMild



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-09 03:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20475626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellowMild/pseuds/MellowMild
Summary: In custody, Raquel ponders the developments that brought her to this point. Meanwhile, Sergio tries to cope with Raquel's death and find a way to save the others still inside the bank. When he receives help from an unexpected source, it becomes clear that the Professor is not the only one who planned for every eventuality.





	1. Me

_There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper, irresistible – magic to make the sanest man go mad._

  * _Homer, The Iliad_

**Chapter 1: Me**

_Of the many things hidden from the knowledge of man, nothing is more unintelligible than the human heart._

_-Homer, The Odyssey_

_“There must be someone who can help you.”_

_“Someone…? Who is going to help me?”_

_“Me…”_

And that was how it all began; with one tiny word. _Me_. A pronoun, consisting of a meagre two letters, spoken in apparent earnest. She would never have guessed, back then, at the astronomical impact it would have. On her, on her family, on him. On the whole of _Spain_, in the end. It was kind of like the scientists that first split the atom, who had no idea of the havoc it would wreak or the nefarious purposes those in power would use it for. All right, perhaps that was overly dramatic, but Raquel felt that she was entitled to a bit of drama in her current predicament. Presumed dead – no, _executed_, by the only man who could save her, held God-knows-where in a small, pitch-black cell, handcuffed to the ceiling so that her toes barely reached the floor (and yes, she was fully aware of the irony of _that_, thank you very much). She would roll her eyes, if only she had any idea whether they were actually open or not. It made no difference to the density of the darkness that surrounded her when she opened them as wide as she could, so she had consciously given up keeping track of the movement of her eyelids. She tried not to focus on the darkness too much, because that way madness lay.

Suarez had brought her straight here after the capture, but she had no idea how much time had passed since. They had stripped her of all her clothes and jewellery and dressed her in a bright yellow prison jumpsuit. Then Suarez had strung her up without a word, giving the chain the handcuffs were locked onto a final savage yank to show her there was no point in struggling, before departing and slamming the door behind him. The last of the muted light that had filtered in from outside the cell had left with him, and she had been here ever since, in total darkness. And total silence. There was nothing to do but reflect on how she had got into this position, which was of course exactly what her former colleagues wanted. It was the oldest trick in the book – let the perpetrator stew in his own juices until the only way to redemption seemed to be confession. Or in her case, she presumed, giving up the location of the Professor, since everyone was already well aware of her wrongdoings. Well, if they thought this was all it would take to turn her, they were in for a surprise - they were going to wait a long fucking time. For she had been reflecting on her path like they wanted her to, but instead of making her aware of the error of her ways, it had only strengthened her convictions. Because of that one little word. _Me_.

That day in the café, when the man she then knew as Salva had fervently declared that he would help her, was the moment when, for the first time in two years of living hell, another human being had really _seen_ her pain. And it was a stranger, a shy man with glasses and a sweet smile, rather than those who knew her well and claimed to love her. It was not her beloved mother, although in Marivi’s defence she had her own demons to deal with. Nor was it her knucklehead sister, who was wilfully contributing to the hell Raquel found herself in. And most importantly, it wasn’t any of her Police colleagues, who never noticed that some days she wore a lot more make-up than usual, or that she suddenly shied away from socialising with her husband at the office, or that she began to take more sick-days than she used to. They never noticed that she didn’t really laugh anymore, or that she jumped at the slightest noise, or that this woman who had always been so self-assured would begin to tremble as soon as anyone raised their voice in her vicinity. Not even Angel, who followed her around with love-sick eyes and made wine-fuelled declarations of devotion at inopportune times, never noticed anything amiss until she laid the complaint against her abusive ex-husband. But the stranger noticed and, more importantly, believed her. She had been so grateful, and now she realised that it was the moment the fissure between her new and her old life had begun to open up. One night in Palawan, when Sergio was buried deep inside her – by then she knew that he was incapable of lying to her whilst they made love - she had asked him whether that day had been part of an act, part of his plan to get closer to the Inspector in charge of the heist. He had pulled her against him and had murmured into her hair that he had meant every word. “I saw you, the real you, for the first time that day,” he had declared, “and it was the end of me. You were no longer just a chess piece on my board – you were _Raquel_.” And as she hung here in the dark, pondering her life, she realised that was also the moment when she had become a whole person again. Not only an abused woman, or a female police officer in a patriarchal work environment; not only the daughter of a woman with Alzheimer’s or the mother of a child who blamed her for her parents splitting up, but Raquel, a person who were all those things, but who was also intelligent and accomplished, and who deserved to be loved and to be happy. Hah. At least all those therapy sessions had paid off. Dr Vazquez would be proud, even though Raquel was sure she did not quite have in mind that her patient should run off with the most wanted man in Spain.

She shifted in a hopeless attempt to lessen the pressure in her bladder and to find a more comfortable position, causing pain to shoot through her shoulder blades, but she did not make a sound. She would not give them the satisfaction. Besides, it paled into insignificance at the thought of what they had done to the Professor. _Oh Sergio, my love…_ She could not bear thinking about what he must be going through – believing that she had been shot in cold blood by the Police. Had the roles been reversed, she would have wanted vengeance, would have wanted to make them pay, and she wondered what was happening on the streets at that moment. She had heard the excited chatter on the police radio on the way here, and she knew something bad had occurred, that there had been some sort of retaliation from the robbers when the Police had tried to storm the bank. That was fair enough – it was justifiable self-defence, and handled the right way would not alienate the public support they relied on so much. But how much further was Sergio prepared to take it? It worried her that she didn’t know the answer to that.

The last couple of hours before her capture had taught her that her mild-mannered lover, her sweet, wonderful Sergio, had another side to him that she had not seen first-hand to date. And that side was ruled by the Professor, who was apparently quite capable of some cold-blooded actions of his own. The Police had already taken his father and his brother from him, and she knew instinctively that she had been right in her accusation that this latest heist was as much in revenge for Berlin’s death than it was to save Rio. And now that he believed her to be dead as well, she feared that Sergio’s better nature would be shouted down by the cold logic of the Professor in his quest for vengeance. She shifted again, restless; whilst she had full confidence in Sergio’s intellectual abilities, there was one area where he was often found wanting, and that was to take the unpredictability of human nature into account. She had to get out of there, or at least get out word of her survival before it was too late, before he set the country alight and lost the vital support of the public. But how?

Her train of thought was interrupted by a sudden cramp in her left calf and she bit back a moan. _How long has it been? Was it already too late?_ She shook her head angrily – this was getting her nowhere. She had to think. What would she have done in Inspector Alicia Sierra’s shoes? This was not as simple a proposition as it sounded. Even though they had the same training, had been at the academy together, they were polar opposites. They approached hostage situations from a very different perspective – whilst Raquel had always focussed on preventing the loss of life (including those of the perpetrators), Alicia didn’t particularly care about that. She simply cared about ending it as soon as possible, and if that included killing everyone involved, even the hostages, then so be it. And of course, where Alicia did not shy away from torturing a former colleague to attain her goal, Raquel knew that she could never have done it. But Alicia had her hanging here for a reason; and that reason was to weaken her resolve. And time was of the essence during this heist, so she would want to know as soon as the first cracks began to appear in Raquel’s armour. Which meant that they had to be watching her somehow, probably with the aid of infrared scanners. If she wanted to get out of this cell, she would have to give them something. And she really wanted to get out of there. For the Professor was not the only one who planned for every eventuality, and Raquel had, in fact, planned for this day. But in order for her plan to work, she had to get out of here and into that command tent outside the bank.

Alicia was not an idiot and Raquel knew she would have to make it convincing. The aim of torture was to break down a person’s self-worth, to humiliate them to a point where they ceased to believe they had the right to be respected, to be treated humanely. The Professor’s face came to her mind’s eye unbidden, dirt-streaked and almost unrecognisable, and it took her a moment to place it. That day in the junkyard, when he had posed as a homeless man. And she remembered the uniformed policeman’s disgust when he reported the bum had pissed himself, and smiled in grim satisfaction. Her beloved Professor was not the only one willing to plumb the depths of depravity to attain his goal. She shifted around for a few more minutes, then called out in a tremulous voice: “Hello? Suarez? Please, I need to use the toilet.” She waited, but there was no answer. The seconds ticked by and when she was certain they weren’t coming, she called out again. “Please! I really need-” With a sob she added, “Suarez, come on! What, are we animals now?! Is this what we have become?!” Still there was no answer, and she let the helplessness overflow her. The tears she had held back so determinedly until now was released, and as they coursed down her face, leaving warm wet tracks in their wake, she let go. Wet warmth ran down her legs and the stench of urine filled the air, and she hung her head and cried in earnest. If they wanted to humiliate her, she would oblige them. But if they thought it would break her, they would have to think again, because Raquel Murillo was pretty fucking familiar with humiliation. She had lived with it for two years and she had survived. Wetting herself was no more humiliating than being slapped around, than being told she was worthless and a disappointment in the sack, than being fucked against her will by a husband who believed it was his right to take her whenever he wanted. So thank you, Alberto, she thought with vicious satisfaction, for providing me with such excellent training for this day, you fucking asshole. She was still sniffling wretchedly when the door banged open, and light as bright as a thousand suns stabbed her eyes. “Ahh! Christ,” she moaned and closed them against the onslaught. “Come on,” a voice said, and she recognised it as Suarez’s, “Inspector Sierra wants to talk to you.”

Careful not to show the stab of triumph that coursed through her, Raquel forced her eyes open and saw the policeman wrinkle his nose in distaste as he stepped close to unlock the handcuffs. But there was something else in his eyes as well, something that looked very much like pity, and she filed that away for later use. For now she had got what she wanted – she was being taken to the command tent. It was time to focus on the next phase of her plan. As they carried her outside and across the road to the tent, for her legs would not work, she breathed gratefully from the fresh air, and then, hoping to God that Marseille was close enough for this to work, asked in as strong a voice as she could muster, “Does the world still think I am dead?”

_tbc_


	2. Hell

_When night falls and the world lies lost in sleep, I take to my bed, my heart throbbing, about to break, anxieties swarming, piercing – I may go mad with grief._

  * _Homer, The Odyssey_

He was in hell. Raquel was dead and his grief was all-consuming. Palermo had managed to draw him out of it long enough to give the order – this is _war_ – but as soon as he had disconnected it swamped him all over again. Somehow he had found his way to the pick-up point and now he sat, his back against a tree, trying to breathe. Tears kept escaping from the corners of his eyes and he let them course down his cheeks unchecked. Raquel was _dead_, and the future yawned before him in unending bleakness. They had executed her, and with her had taken all colour and joy from his world. Gone forever was her vibrant presence, her joyful laugh, her beauty. Never again would she gaze at him, her eyes filled with love and desire, or tease him gently about his social awkwardness, only to kiss him with abandon afterwards. There would be no more patient dancing lessons, no more cooking together on the boat, no more swimming fully clothed in the ocean. She was no longer there to teach Paula how to braid her own hair, or to rescue Marivi when she wandered off- Oh, God, what was he going to tell them? How could he possibly explain to them that they would never see Raquel again? They would surely blame him, and not without justification. And – God forbid – what if Paula wanted to go back to her father? Raquel would not want that, but what could he possibly do? He had no claim on the girl, and he couldn’t exactly hold her with him against her will. And Marivi, whose lucid periods were becoming fewer and fewer… He could not count on her support to keep Paula away from her father. _Oh, Raquel. I don’t know what to do. Please tell me what to do._ But of course there was no answer. And there never would be, not ever again. So he sat in dazed misery, lost in his desolate hell, until the drone of a car engine shattered the silence of the forest.

Sergio wiped his sleeve across his eyes, but made no further attempt to move. He should take cover until he was sure that it was Marseille coming to pick him up, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. What was the point? If they captured him now, what would it matter? If they executed him too, it would not make a difference to what he had already set in motion. Palermo would act according to the plan if he didn’t hear anything further from the Professor; he would make the authorities pay for what they had done. For killing the most wonderful person he had ever known. And right now, that was all that mattered to him – vengeance. Also for his father and for Andres, but most of all for Raquel.

The car pulled to a stop next to him and waited there, idling. When Sergio made no move to get up, the engine switched off and Marseille got out. He stood for a moment, listening to the silence of the forest, before he came over and settled next to Sergio. For long minutes they just sat quietly, until Marseille eventually said gently, “She was a remarkable woman. I’m sorry.”

And that was all it took to break the last of Sergio’s resolve. He wept, pressing his fingers into his eyes, whilst Marseille looked away tactfully, leaving the other man to grieve in private.

When the tears eventually dried up, Marseille turned his head to look at Sergio. Hoping to see the Professor coming back to himself. “What now?” he asked, when it became clear that Sergio would not break the silence.

_Yes, what now_? That was certainly the question. And for once in his life Sergio Marquina did not have any answers. “I don’t know,” he confessed, his voice hoarse with grief, and stared off into the trees so he would not have to see the disappointment on Marseille’s face.

But to his surprise his companion merely said, “Yes, you do. You plan for everything, Professor.”

The words stirred him out of his stupor, and later, when he was once again alone with his thoughts, he would wonder whether that had been Marseille’s intention all along. Whether he had chosen those particular words quite intentionally. Sergio swung around angrily. “Not for _this_! Never for Raq- for Lisbon’s death!”

Marseille faced his anger calmly. “Perhaps not. But you would have planned for when things went wrong. The others are counting on you. Nairobi is fighting for her life. You can still save her, and the rest of them. So that Lisbon did not die in vain.”

This was perhaps the longest speech Sergio had ever heard Marseille utter, and all through it the man looked him steadily in the eye, making sure that the words sunk in. And they did. Raquel would not want this – would not want him to wallow in self-pity when there was work to be done, when there were others to be helped. She had, without hesitation, stepped into the breach by his side to save Rio, and she would certainly have a lot to say if he gave up now. He swallowed, suppressing the thought that she would never scold him about anything again, before he nodded and staggered to his feet. “You are correct, Marseille. Let’s go.”

The drive back to Madrid was quiet. Sergio leant his head back and closed his eyes, and Marseille left him to his thoughts. He could not help but think of her, and he tried to imprint on his memory every little thing he could remember. So that he would never forget. He did not want to wake up one day and suddenly realise that he could no longer remember what her voice sounded like, or how her nose crinkled when she laughed, or the way her eyes darkened when she was aroused. He wanted to remember forever the softness of her skin under his touch, the texture of her nipple in his mouth, and the taste of her essence on his tongue. If he could no longer have these things in reality, he hoped that she would forever be with him in his dreams. There she could still ride him to oblivion, until he came with her name a whispered prayer on his lips, and let him spoon her afterwards, mumbling nonsense words of endearment into her hair. He wanted to remember forever how it felt to be truly alive, to be happier than he ever thought possible. To feel a part of something wondrous, to know that he had it in him to make another person feel the same. By the time they reached the safe house on the outskirts of Madrid, he had catalogued every freckle on her body, every scar and blemish. He would never forget any of them, he vowed fervently. But first, he had work to do. He would make them pay – blood for blood. So when Marseille pulled the car into the garage and turned to him, the Professor said firmly: “You need to get back to the bank. I need to communicate with Palermo as soon as possible.”

Sergio entered the house, bone-weary. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton-wool. Clarity of thought would be essential if he was to get the others out of the bank alive, so he stepped into the bathroom to rinse his face. As his eye caught the two toiletry bags standing neatly side-by-side on the windowsill, he stopped short. There were reminders of her everywhere. He reached out and took down hers, and opened it with trembling fingers. Make-up, face and body cream, deodorant, a few tampons, and a small bottle of her shampoo. He took it out and popped it open, and sniffed gently. Memories flashed before his eyes – watching her wash her hair for the first time; walking hand-in-hand on the beach, the breeze wafting the scent of her shampoo to him; his nose buried in her hair after making love, her hands stroking down his back. _Never again_. The realisation stabbed at his heart and he closed the bottle reverently, then dropped it into his own bag. As he filled the wash basin he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He could barely recognise the man he saw there, so haggard and desolate. _So this was what heart-broken looked like. _The thought came unbidden and he grimaced – if anyone had told the old Sergio, the Before Raquel version, that he would become this sentimental, he would have laughed in their face. Intellect over emotion, always. Until she came along and breached his defences with a single, raw confession of her messy life, and he was lost. On that day in the café he’d wanted nothing more than to help her – to rescue her, to see that glorious smile of hers unaccompanied by tears in her eyes. With a sigh he plunged his head under the water, opening his eyes to let the cold water alleviate the burning sensation the tears had left behind. There would be time for reminiscence later, but now he had things to do.

Tossing a towel around his neck, he moved to the control room they had set up and switched on the TV monitors. The heist-in-progress was the lead story on every single news channel and images of the bank from the air, with a pall of smoke drifting over the scene, was interspersed with the burning tank and the soldier staggering out of it, his whole body on fire. Sergio closed his eyes momentarily, filled with regret that it had come to this. Until he remembered her pleading for her life, even as she refused to betray him, to give him up. Only to be answered with two bullets. He set his jaw. The authorities deserved all they got. This was war, and every soldier and policeman was fair game. He delved in his pocket and took out the paper boat she had made and put alongside his more elaborate origami figures. It was less than 24 hours ago, and yet it felt like years. He had found it adorable, and had stuck it in his pocket when she wasn’t looking. Reverently he set it on the table, before he picked up a piece of red paper to make a companion for it.

_Bank of Spain_

As Marseille neared the bank he could see the black smoke from the burning tank still rising into the air. He was back on his bicycle, and as he approached he passed a number of people moving swiftly away from the scene, their faces etched with fear. These were the people who just hours ago had been waving placards in support of the Resistance. But apparently, at the first possibility of violence, of action, they bolted. The realisation troubled him, and he wondered whether the Professor had miscalculated. Their leader was convinced that the citizens of Madrid would support them in a struggle against the system, but Marseille was not so sure. He had been in battle – had seen first-hand how quickly people lost the taste for fighting when it was their own necks on the line. It was easy to protest against the regime when the risk was someone else’s, but if this ended up with pitched battles on the streets, the support for their cause would quickly dwindle. And if the public turned against them now, the plan would fail and the others would all die, trapped inside that bank like animals in a cage. It reminded him that he had not been the only one with doubts.

_Two days before the heist_

Marseille sat on the monastery wall, watching the lambs play in their little enclosure. It was early morning and they were frisky, jumping around with delight at the start of a new day. Animals were easy to understand – if you treated them with respect they repaid you with devoted loyalty for as long as they lived. People, on the other hand… He didn’t really feel part of the group that the Professor had recruited, not yet. Perhaps he would in time, but he wasn’t sure that there was enough of that commodity before they went into action. It didn’t matter to him, really. He believed in the cause and that was all that counted. Besides, he would be outside, not trapped in the bank with the rest of them. And he would do his part whether he liked the others or not, because Marseille did not believe in leaving fellow soldiers in the lurch, ever. He knew what that felt like, and he would never wish it on anyone else.

There was movement to his side and he turned his head to see Lisbon approach. He nodded at her as she came to lean against the wall next to him. He liked her; she wasn’t as brash as the younger ones, and she also seemed to be on the edge of the group, like he was. She was a watcher, and he got the sense that she didn’t miss much. There was a quiet confidence to her, as though she knew exactly who she was and was comfortable with it. He’d often seen her observe the interactions of the others, as though she was gauging their state of mind or perhaps testing their loyalty and commitment to the Plan. It was rather ironic, seeing that _they_ were wary of _her_ and uncertain of her loyalty to them – this band of thieving misfits the Professor had assembled. Because she used to be a part of the enemy, one of the instruments of the regime they were rebelling against. A Police Inspector, and one that was smart enough to almost beat the Professor last time round. But Marseille had no such concerns. Lisbon’s loyalty was to the Professor first and foremost, of that he had no doubt. You only had to watch the two of them together to understand that their connection was something special, something rare and extraordinary. And this was coming from a man who was a die-hard cynic about human nature. If any of the others looked like they would fail the Professor, Marseille suspected they would have to deal with Lisbon’s wrath.

She broke the silence and came straight to the point – another thing he liked about her. “I need your help,” she said, turning her focus to him.

Marseille didn’t respond, merely waited for her to continue.

She produced a mobile phone, similar to the stack of antiques he already had in his possession to aid with the untraceable communications. “I want you to take this one with you as well,” she explained, then after a slight hesitation added, “and to turn it on if I should get captured.”

He stared at her, before taking the mobile and turning it over in his hands. “It looks different,” he observed, and she seemed pleased that he had noticed.

“Yes. It’s actually a receiver for a special signal, but built to look like an old mobile.”

Marseille digested this. “What signal?” he asked, and she took a breath.

“From me. So that I can communicate with the Professor even if I’ve been captured.”

He raised his eyebrows. “The Professor did not mention anything like this,” he said carefully, and she smiled fondly.

“No. He doesn’t know, and I would like to keep it that way.” Seeing his reluctance, she leant forward to emphasize her next words. “Marseille. The Professor is a brilliant man, but when he makes his plans he tends to forget that people are emotional beings. And that includes himself. He needs a little help with that – so that we don’t alienate the public.”

She did not spell it out but he understood her well enough – there was no telling what the Professor might do if he thought Lisbon was in peril; if there was some way in which she could reassure him, it would be to everyone’s benefit. So he nodded and slipped the device into his pocket. “All right. It stays between us.”

_Present time_

As he joined the crowd before the bank, he wondered what they had done with Lisbon’s body. He could feel the weight of her receiver in his pocket. Perhaps there was a way to recover her remains, to give the Professor and her family some closure? Surely there would be no harm in it…? He fished it out and took a stroll around the block as he switched it on. As he lifted it to his ear he kept a sharp eye out for anyone that paid him too much attention, and promptly almost dropped it again. Then he broke into a run.

_Safe house_

Sergio settled in front of the communications recorder, its blinking light filling him with trepidation. The last conversation between him and Raquel was lying on this machine, and he could think of nothing worse than to listen to her plead in vain for her life once again. But he would have to, because he wanted the world to also hear how callously the Police had shot an unarmed civilian. He pressed the Rewind button and was about to slip on the headphones, when the phone he communicated with Marseille on chirped. He picked it up. “Are you in pos-“ he began to ask, but the other man never let him finish.

He sounded out of breath as he said urgently, “You need to hear this.” There was a shuffling noise and then a click, before a voice he thought he would never hear again filled his ears: _Does the world still think I am dead?_

_tbc_


	3. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind reviews. I shall do my best to be worthy of them for the remainder of the story.

_Aphrodite forever stands by her man and drives the spirits of death away from him._

_Homer, The Iliad_

_Does the world still think I am dead?_

As the words reverberated around his skull, Sergio stopped breathing and everything went black. It was her, there was no question about it. _Raquel. _He would recognise her voice out of a million others. But it couldn’t be. She was dead. Wasn’t she…? For a second he panicked, certain that he had gone mad, that Marseille had played something else and he had heard what his heart most desired. But then he heard her again as she said, “Hello, Alicia. Long time,” and he knew that was something he would never dream her saying. It took three tries before his voice would work. “Marseille- what the _fuck_?”

Even as he asked the question, he saw with sudden clarity what Inspector Sierra had done. She had played him at his own game, had identified his biggest vulnerability and had exploited it beautifully, and he’d never suspected. He had to hand it to the woman - she had won this particular battle. But Raquel was _alive_, and his self-recrimination lasted all of two seconds before it was obliterated by overwhelming joy. She was still in this world, and there was a chance that he would see her again, hold her in his arms once more. Make love to her and cherish her, and never let her go- He could not contain the laugh that bubbled out of him, and it was a sound of sheer exultation, of boundless relief.

Marseille listened and smiled, grateful on behalf of the other man for this turn of events. And to Lisbon for having the foresight to make it possible.

_Two days before the heist_

As Lisbon turned to leave, Marseille suddenly thought of something else. “How are you going to get the transmitter in with you if you get captured? Surely you’ll be searched?”

She smiled and lifted her shirt to show him a tiny scar on her abdomen. “The same way we expect them to sneak one in with Rio,” she explained, and he frowned.

“But if we will be able to detect the microphone under Rio’s skin with a scanner, wouldn’t the Police be able to do the same?”

“Of course,” Lisbon said airily, “if they take the trouble to scan me. But they won’t.”

Marseille lifted an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because they will already have discovered the other communication device I will have on me, as well as the tracker embedded in my collar.” She smiled again. “So they will have found what they were looking for.” He nodded in admiration, and her smile turned into a grin. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and give the Professor some code words without him realising what I’m doing.”

He watched her walk away with a spring in her step and could not help but envy the Professor. There was little doubt about the methods Lisbon planned to employ to obtain her goal.

_Safe house_

Sergio sat in front of the receiver, staring at it fixedly. Craving the sound of her voice once more. Marseille had briefly filled him in on Lisbon’s plan, and his overwhelming emotion was one of gratitude. She had understood the impact it would have on him to lose her, whether to capture or death, and she had planned for it. He had refused to entertain it, had stupidly supposed that he would be able to carry on with his plan regardless, and as a result had endangered them all. His smart, beautiful love had demonstrated her value in this endeavour once more, and had found a way to thwart the Police’s most cunning move to date into the bargain as well. If they got out of this one with their lives intact, it would in no small measure be thanks to her. His gaze flicked to the dial of the recorder, making sure that it was running. He could not afford to miss a single word she uttered whilst in the company of the Police, because he now knew she had also subliminally prepared him for this day.

_Two days before the heist, evening_

Raquel was already in her silk pajamas and lounging on the bed when he entered their room, her nose buried in a book, and he couldn’t help but be a little disappointed. It seemed there would be no repeat of the previous evening’s events, when she’d given him such a delicious surprise. Who’d have thought that he would find a black lace teddy and stockings such a turn-on? He’d been hard even before she went down on him, and he had no idea how he managed to still sprout the details of their escape plan to her during the following events. Maybe tonight he could return the favour.

“Sorry I took so long,” he said as he settled next to her knee on the bed, “Palermo wouldn’t stop talking.”

“Hmm,” she responded, and managed to fill that one syllable with her disdain for the man in question.

Sergio’s ears were still ringing after the rant she had subjected him to after Palermo’s ridiculous ‘boom boom ciao’ speech the other day, to let him know in no uncertain terms that if he ever entertained similar thoughts about the sexual act, she would castrate him and he would never have to worry about sex again. Before he’d met Raquel such a threat would barely have bothered him – the intercourse he’d had up to that point had not been particularly memorable – but now it constituted a horrid thought. In fact, he would go so far as to classify it a calamity. Because he quite liked to have sex with Raquel. All right, that was a massive understatement; he was beginning to suspect that he was addicted to it. To her. Nothing gave him more pleasure than making her gasp in ecstacy, than losing all rational thought once he was buried inside her.

He ran a finger lightly up her knee. “What are you reading?” he murmured, doing his best to distract her. Sergio didn’t often take the lead when it came to seduction and foreplay and he suspected that he was rather clumsy at it, but damn it, he was positively horny after the previous night’s events. Besides, it seemed to please Raquel when he did initiate these, er, activities. She shut the book with a loud snap that startled him and he snatched his hand back guiltily. But when he looked up into her face there was no annoyance; only a glint in her eye that he knew exceedingly well by now. He put his hand back where it had been and her mouth opened a little. _God_. He never knew that skin could be so soft.

“I found it in the monastery library,” she was saying, although he was having trouble concentrating on anything other than his hand caressing her thigh. Just a little higher and he could- “Look! Can you believe it?” She shoved the book under his nose, blocking his view of her sexy leg, and he struggled to focus on the cover.

Belatedly he remembered that he had two hands, and used the other to push his glasses up his nose. “_The Scarlet Pimpernel_”, he intoned, then began to smile. “Now that _is_ interesting.”

She laughed, gleeful. “Isn’t it? Why on earth would a bunch of monks have this in their library? It’s positively scandalous.”

His hand continued its ministrations as he considered. “Well…”

Her eyes narrowed even as she shifted her leg to give him better access. “What?”

Fingers brushed against silk and they both shivered. “’Scandalous’ might be a bit strong,” he opined as he repeated the gesture, delighting in the way her head tilted back. “I mean,” he continued, totally engrossed in their dance now, “it’s not like it’s _Lady Chatterley’s Lover_ or anything.”

Raquel drew in a breath and involuntarily shifted her hips, and he could feel her heat through the silk barrier. He looked into her eyes and was lost. It was always thus with them; they couldn’t stop gazing into each other’s eyes during intercourse. Sergio loved it; it made him feel that their souls connected each time their bodies joined together.

Raquel’s eyes were dark pools of desire and a hint of a smile hovered at the corners of her mouth as she unceremoniously tossed the book out of the way. “You’ve read it?” she queried, delighted, never breaking eye contact.

He adored that her need for this deeper connection was as strong as his. He’d never experienced it with other lovers and it made all the difference. With her, he was mentally present for every single second whilst they made love. “_The Scarlet Pimpernel_?” he responded, deliberately misunderstanding her as he slipped a finger under the edge of her underwear. Fuck, she was so wet already and he nearly lost his train of thought. “Er… Uhm, it’s practically required reading for any self-respecting thief.”

His finger traced her entrance and her nipples sprang to attention, straining against the silk of her pajamas. “Oh…” The sound was a mere sigh on her lips as she arched her back. “Smartass,” she mumbled, her voice low and smoky now. “I meant the other one. _Lady Chatterley’s Lover_.” Her hand unerringly found him, straining against the confines of his trousers, and began to fondle him expertly.

He grinned at her, almost feral as his control began to slip. “Ah.” He leant forward and sucked a nipple into his mouth, and her other hand came up and buried in his hair.

“Fuck. _Yes_,” she breathed.

She loved the feel of the slippery silk against her skin almost as much as he did, and he had discovered to his eternal delight that it drove her wild when he caressed her through the barrier of the decadent material. Her thumb traced the shell of his ear and suddenly he lost patience. He wanted to be inside her, right now. He sat up and her hands joined his to unbutton his shirt in the shortest possible time. “Yes, I’ve read _Lady Chatterley’s Lover_,” he confessed breathlessly as she gave up and grabbed his head to kiss him.

By the time she let him up for air he had managed to remove his shirt and hers, and as her hands dropped to his belt she grinned at him. “Huh. And was that also required reading for a self-respecting thief?”

He felt himself blush and laughed, but it choked off when her hand enclosed him. “No. That was required reading for _this_ moment,” he said boldly, aroused beyond reason, “when I’m about to pleasure the most beautiful woman in the world.” And then the talking was over. He stripped them both of any remaining clothing and settled on top of her, and she eagerly drew him in.

“Show me what you’ve got,” she whispered against his lips as she removed his glasses and wrapped her legs around him, and he proceeded to do just that. Three times.

And when he eventually regained his senses it was only to hear Raquel say, “Sergio. Have you noticed the size of that bathtub?”

_Command tent_

Raquel blinked against the feeling of familiarity that washed over her as soon as she was brought into the tent. How many of these had she been in over the years? _No_. This would not do. This was not the time for nostalgia. Besides, she was no longer that person. It had been Raquel who had done that; but right now she was not Raquel. She was Lisbon, and she was here for a purpose. They plonked her down on a chair and she whimpered; the wet jumpsuit was uncomfortable against her buttocks. She was probably going to have one hell of a rash. Her hands were still cuffed behind her back and she had to lean forward uncomfortably, craning her head at an angle to look around her. The first person she saw was Angel, standing towards the back with a horrified expression. _Yes, Angel, this is what the system has become_, she thought. _See what you’re a part of now_. Her eyes moved on and fell on the pregnant Inspector. “Hello, Alicia. Long time,” she said, blocking out everyone else to focus on the woman in front of her. _Here we go. Let the games begin_. _Please, God, let the Professor be listening_.

“Raquelll,” the other woman said with relish, taking in the wretched picture before her. “You look a mess.”

Lisbon tossed her hair out of her eyes and squinted up at her adversary. “Yes, well, few people look good in puke-yellow. _Red_ is more my colour.”

_Two days before the heist, evening_

As they luxuriated in the warm water, Sergio contemplated the many ways in which his life had changed since Raquel had become a part of it. Before her, he had no idea of the sensory pleasure that could be derived from lying in a bubble-bath and just... be. Her back was pressed to his chest and she lazily drew patterns on his arms, which were wrapped around her. He, in turn, brushed a thumb over a nipple every now and then, and each time she rewarded him with a satisfied hum.

“Talking about _The Scarlet Pimpernel_,” she said out of the blue as she turned her head and rubbed her forehead against his beard, “how many different names for the colour red can you name?”

It took him a moment to catch up. “Were we?” he asked in return, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I wasn’t aware of talking about anything.”

She laughed, crinkling her nose in that way he found so adorable. “I grant that you did an exceptional job of distracting me, but I do have a vague recollection of a conversation some hours ago.” Her foot rubbed against his calf so he turned her face to him for a slow, deep kiss. When they eventually parted, she trailed her fingers over his cheek and through his beard. “You’re doing it again,” she scolded happily, “but it won’t work this time. Focus, Professor. The colour red.”

He sighed dramatically. “Let’s see… Crimson. Burgundy, vermilion. Erm… coral, ruby, rose. How am I doing?”

She smiled at him adoringly. “Very well, my brainy darling. _Vermilion_? Really?” This time it was she who initiated the kiss, and as his tongue invaded her mouth, he wished he could get it up one more time but alas, his body would not cooperate.

“Why the sudden interest in the colour red?” he asked when she had nestled her head back into the crook of his neck.

“Oh, I don’t know. I was just thinking colours would make a good code, if we ever had to communicate whilst others were monitoring us. It would be easy to slip it into a normal conversation without arousing suspicion. Like, red or crimson - or _vermilion_ \- could indicate: I’m in danger, get me out of here.”

“Mm no, too obvious,” he objected, and she nodded in agreement.

“So we flip it around. Red can mean: I’m okay, but I’m being monitored.”

He considered that, enjoying the game. “So green would mean: I’m in danger, get me out?”

“Yes, exactly.”

This was fun. He scooped up some foam and plopped it on her nose. “This is fun. Let’s do some more,” he said, and did not notice the secretive smile she hid against his neck.

_Safe house_

_Red_. She had used red in the conversation. Raquel was okay, his love was okay. Sergio thought his heart would burst from relief and joy. She was in custody, but she was okay and communicating with him. He still had a chance to save her. He laughed out loud, surprising himself, before once again checking that the recorder was working. “I’m here,” he said, not caring that she could not hear him. “I’m listening. Talk to me.”

_tbc_


	4. Duel

_Let me not then die ingloriously and without a struggle, but let me first do some great thing that shall be told among men hereafter._

_Homer, The Iliad_

_Command tent_

Inspector Sierra waddled over and stood in front of her former colleague, her hands pressed into her back. Lisbon had to crane her neck to look up at her and she knew it was deliberate. “Back ache?” she asked the Inspector sympathetically; she might as well try to establish a rapport. “I remember when I was pregnant-“

“Ha!” Alicia interrupted and looked at the men dotted around the tent. “You hear that, gentlemen? Look at the state of her, and she still remembers the training.” She looked back at Raquel triumphantly. “First rule of negotiation: Try to establish a connection with your subject, right, Raquel? Like bonding over our pregnancies.” Alicia beamed at the men. “You lot can learn something from her – remember the training, no matter how dire the situation might seem.” Behind her shoulder Colonel Tamayo shifted and rolled his eyes, irritated. “Although,” the Inspector continued, “I don’t think the manual said anything about going so far as _fucking_ the subject.” She batted her eyelashes at Raquel. “Or did I miss that part?” she asked sweetly.

_Bitch_. Lisbon lifted her chin defiantly. “It doesn’t say anything about stringing the subject from the ceiling until they wet themselves either,” she bit back.

Sergio closed his eyes and breathed deeply in an effort to quell the rage welling up inside of him. _Fucking bastards_. He would make them pay. As he continued to listen, he rummaged in the box of old mobiles for the next one he would use to communicate with Palermo.

It was too much for Angel. He stepped forward. “This is not right,” he complained. “For God’s sake let her clean up and put on dry clothes.”

Alicia looked at the ceiling, annoyed at the interruption. Lisbon saw her chance. “Yes, please. I’ll put my old clothes back on-“ she began, but the Inspector did not let her finish.

“Ah yes!” she exclaimed. “Your old clothes. Were you perhaps interested in the shirt in particular? With the tracker in the collar?” She watched with relish as her prisoner paled and her shoulders sagged. “Come on, Raquel. Do you think we’re stupid? Does that clown you’re sleeping with think we are? Did he think that once we’d got rid of your communication device back at the farm we wouldn’t look any further? Your shirt isn’t here anyway – it’s at the morgue, along with your body, as far as the Professor knows.”

Lisbon dropped her head so they would not see her expression, her heart pounding. _Careful, now_. She pictured in her mind Sergio’s anguish as they executed her, putting herself in his place until she could feel her heart break. As a single tear escaped, she looked up at Alicia with all the hatred she felt. “You want to make him think I am dead.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I have been successful in that,” the other woman responded blithely. “So you see, my dear Raquel, no-one is coming for you.” She bent down close to her prisoner, emphasizing her dominance. “You have thrown your life away for nothing. The Professor is off-balance and making mistakes. This will all be over soon.”

There was a beat of silence, then Lisbon laughed ruefully.

Alicia narrowed her eyes; this was not the reaction she’d expected. “What?”

“Actually, you’ve probably done him a favour,” Lisbon said in a resigned voice, and the Police officers shared alarmed looks.

Colonel Tamayo stepped forward. “What do you mean?”

But Raquel shook her head defiantly. “Let me clean up and I’ll tell you.”

“No,” Alicia blurted immediately, but the Colonel snapped his fingers at her.

“I’m in charge here, Inspector. Don’t forget that,” he stated.

“But-“

“No! Enough,” he commanded. “You told us they would be distracted after the sniper shot one of them, and after we pretended to shoot Murillo; that we could storm the place and they would not be ready. Look out there, Inspector Sierra!” He waved an arm wildly in the direction of the burning tank, his face turning red. “You were wrong! Now, bring this woman a washcloth and clean clothes. She stinks of piss.” He turned back to Raquel. “I’ll let you clean up. But first you have to give me something.”

The Professor’s heart swelled with pride as he listened in. Lisbon had barely arrived and already she had managed to get them squabbling amongst themselves. His thoughts were interrupted when Palermo came on the line. “Professor. We have set the explosives. We are ready to execute DEFCON 2.”

Sergio hesitated. He’d had every intention to give the order, to tip Madrid into chaos, but Raquel was speaking again and something told the Professor to hold back. “Hang on a moment,” he instructed before he gave his full attention to the conversation in the command tent.

“All right,” Lisbon was saying, “but if you renege on your promise, you’ll get nothing more from me.” She stared Tamayo down until he nodded, and ignored the cynical snort from Alicia in the background. “The last thing the Professor said to me before we split up was that he could not operate to his full capacity when I was there.” She smiled somewhat bitterly. “That I was a _distraction_.” She looked at Angel as she divulged this, and he shook his head at the stupidity of the other man. “So you see, Colonel, all you have managed to do is to remove that distraction for him.”

“_Fuck_!” Tamayo exclaimed with feeling, levelling an accusatory glare at Inspector Sierra as he did so. Alicia was watching Raquel speculatively, but did not say anything. The Colonel waved forward the lackey that had been hovering in the background with a bucket and a change of clothes, and the woman stepped forward and placed it at the prisoner’s feet.

Raquel waited, but when no-one else moved, she asked wearily, “Should I begin bobbing for apples?”, before rattling the handcuffs at them. A few of the men snickered as Suarez belatedly stepped forward to unlock it. She nodded her thanks and rubbed gingerly at the angry red marks they had left behind.

“Keep talking,” Tamayo said shortly, and she looked at him in confusion.

“You said I could change first.”

“Do it while we talk,” he ordered, and she blanched.

“Here?!”

“Oh for God’s-“ He glared at her. “Do I stutter? Yes, _here_. We’ve all seen a naked woman before.”

Sergio stood abruptly. “No,” he said miserably. Then louder, “_No_.” He reached for the phone to Palermo, intent on giving the order.

Raquel looked at the faces around her, overwhelmed by a helplessness she had last felt in Alberto’s presence. Only Angel and Suarez looked mildly uncomfortable. All these men in the tent, and not a single fucking one with a sense of honour, of decency. Jesus, what was happening to the world? When did the worst possible behaviour become so acceptable? Become the norm? She felt a treacherous tear slide down her cheek and wiped it away angrily. Sergio was a thousand times better than any of these men, even with all his shortcomings. And if he was listening in, he would be furious right now. _Do not give them the satisfaction_. She swallowed, and willed Lisbon to the forefront once more. “Fine,” she mumbled, and began to strip. As she did so, she looked every single man in that room in the eye defiantly, one after the other, until some of them turned away in embarrassment. _The Plan. Focus on the Plan_. Lisbon looked at Tamayo. “We recorded all communications. The Professor will have the incident at the farm on record. He will release it to the world soon,” she said, and was immensely proud that her voice was steady. “He will incite a revolt, and he doesn’t care if all that remains of Madrid is grey ash.”

Sergio’s hand froze on the dial button, and he waited with bated breath.

“Shit,” Suarez said in alarm, but Alicia laughed, unperturbed. She had a towel in her hands and now stepped forward to hold it in front of Raquel, screening her from the men’s gazes. Well, well. Maybe there was a shred of humanity in her after all. Raquel nodded at her gratefully.

“You think that’s funny?” spluttered Tamayo. “Our reputation-“

“Oh Colonel, ye of little faith,” the Inspector said mockingly. “You think I have not considered this possibility?”

Lisbon’s heart thumped loudly. _Listen carefully, Professor. Do not walk into their trap_, she prayed fervently.

“The moment he releases that recording, we produce Raquel Murillo, miraculously alive and unharmed, and make him look like a mug.” She smiled at Raquel, cat-like. “You see, Raquel, how easy it is to outmanoeuvre that man when you’re not thinking with your… What shall we call it? Cunt, perhaps?”

Sergio tapped the button. “Palermo, DEFCON 2 is on hold until I say otherwise,” he instructed shortly, before switching to the phone dedicated for communication with the Police.

Lisbon gritted her teeth and suppressed the urge to slap the woman. Smug bitch. So much for that shred of humanity. “I prefer ‘heart’,” she snapped, and from the corner of her eye saw Angel shake his head in disbelief. _Let’s see how you fare now that you also have a Trojan horse in your midst, Alicia. Let’s see you outmanoeuvre the Professor when he knows every move you plan to make_. The thought gave her immense satisfaction and she had barely completed it when the red phone in the tent chirped.

Every eye in the room swivelled towards it before Tamayo breathed, “It’s him.” He made a move towards it but the Inspector pre-empted him. She slapped her hand down over it.

“Someone gag the traitor,” she ordered. “Wouldn’t want her to alert the Professor to the fact that she is still alive, would we?”

Hands dragged Raquel back in the chair and she was cuffed once again, before Suarez securely gagged her. Once he was done Alicia snatched up the phone. “Professor,” she said happily, winking at Raquel as she did so, “I’d begun to fear that you had forgotten me.”

Sergio gripped the handset so hard that his knuckles turned white. _Grey ash_. “No more games, Inspector. You have shown your colours in the last few hours. You shot an unarmed civilian in cold blood-“ he choked, and everyone in the tent could hear the emotion in his voice, “and you used a child to lure its mother into a trap so that you could shoot her. Well. Soon the world will know what sort of person you really are. I will blacken your name, Inspector, and you will never be able to clean it again.”

Raquel closed her eyes, and those who watched her thought it was a reaction to hearing the Professor’s voice again. But it was so that they would not read the elation in her eyes. _I will blacken your name_, he’d said. _Black_. He was listening.

Inspector Sierra smiled at Tamayo triumphantly. “Are you… Did you record what happened with your girlfriend?” she asked in a small, scared voice, and Lisbon mentally rolled her eyes at the theatrics. But when Sergio answered, his tone familiar and friendly, she couldn’t help the stab of jealousy that coursed through her.

“Yes, Inspectora, I did,” he purred, and Lisbon clenched her jaw.

“And, now you’re going to release it to the press?” the Inspector asked, waggling her eyebrows at Raquel. “I don’t suppose I can convince you not to do it?” she pleaded.

It was strange to watch this duel of wits from the outside, to not be the one on the other side of the phone, and Raquel didn’t quite know how to feel about it. She expected the professor to summarily shut the Inspector down, but he surprised her.

“I’m glad you asked,” he responded to her consternation. Surely he didn’t buy the Inspector’s act?! “There _is_ something you can do for me.” Just as Raquel began to think that Sergio had lost his mind, his voice hardened and as he continued, everything began to make sense. “You shot one of my colleagues and she is in a critical condition. If you allow us to bring in a surgeon, I will not release the recording.”

Colonel Tamayo nodded frantically but Alicia ignored him. “No,” she said immediately, and they all looked at each other as this was met with a long silence from the Professor. “Professor?” she asked eventually, and when the answer came it was spoken with barely controlled anger.

“Then you leave me no choice. But you know what? I don’t think I’ll tell the public that you shot Raquel in cold blood. I think I’ll tell them that you have captured her, and that you are probably torturing her just like you did Rio. I will ask them to demand that you show her to the world – to prove that she is not being mistreated. And when you can’t, Inspector, what do you think will happen? Oh, and I have another surprise for you. I would watch the news channels in five minutes’ time if I were you.” He disconnected without waiting for an answer.

Alicia‘s cockiness slipped, and she looked towards Raquel.

“What is he talking about?” she demanded, but Raquel merely stared at her belligerently. _Now that’s the man I fell in love with_. Perhaps it was a good thing that she was still gagged, otherwise she might have said that out loud. All the same her heart was in her throat and she watched the TV screen with anxious anticipation. And exactly five minutes later, it went snowy. When it cleared, the Professor’s face filled it and Raquel inhaled sharply. He looked terrible; his eyes were red and swollen, and his hair was sticking out in all directions. He looked like a man who had been through hell in the last couple of hours.

“This message is for those of you who know in their hearts that we can no longer count on a fair system in this country – who knows that the only people the government cares about are those with money and power. The rich and famous.”

Tamayo ground his teeth audibly. “Can we block his signal?” he asked urgently, but Suarez shook his head. He was leaning over the lead technician’s shoulder. “The signal is bouncing around – as soon as we block it at one tower it simply jumps to the next.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” the tech said in wonder. “They must have every hacker in Europe assisting them with this.”

_Or maybe just 68 Pakistanis_, Lisbon thought with grim satisfaction.

“It will take at least two hours to trace it, and we can only block it once we know where it’s coming from.”

“Two terrible events have taken place in the last few hours,” the Professor continued, “and that is why we had to meet force with force to defend ourselves. You saw the authorities try to storm the bank, and you saw us blow up their vehicle.” He gazed down for a moment, regret writ large over his face, before he looked squarely into the camera again. “I sincerely regret that someone has been hurt, but we were left with no choice. You see, just before that, Inspector Alicia Sierra did an abominable thing – she used a young child to lure its mother into the line of fire of a sniper.”

Alicia’s smile wavered, before she resolutely plastered it back in place. “He has no proof – we made sure no-one could record it.” But her words were barely cold when footage of the episode replaced the Professor’s face on the screen. They watched as Inspector Sierra walked over and placed the bear in front of the bank, and later bring the boy out so Nairobi could look at him from the window. And then the shot, clear as day, and the blood spurting before she fell from view.

“Oh, Christ,” Colonel Tamayo said, aghast. He swung towards the tech. “You said it wasn’t possible to record anything in this vicinity!” he screeched.

The techie’s face was ashen and sweat broke out on his forehead. “We blocked any digital recording signals,” he said miserably. “They must have shot that with an old camera, directly onto film.”

Tamayo stared at him, stricken speechless. “Mary Mother of God,” he breathed, “and it never occurred to you that they might use old technology? I’m surrounded by a bunch of _fucking idiots_!!”

But worse was yet to come.

“The authorities refused to let us bring in a surgeon to attend to our friend,” the Professor continued. “But that is not all.” His voice wavered and he had to take a breath before he could continue. “The second event that took place is that they captured one of us. Lisbon was taken a couple of hours ago.” As he spoke tears welled up in his eyes. “You know her as the former Police Inspector Raquel Murillo; a woman who had the courage of her convictions to walk away from a system that has become brutal, that does not value human life or basic dignity.” He wiped at a tear that threatened to escape. “I… uhm… You should know that she joined us in this endeavour because she could not condone what was happening to Rio, because she found torture abhorrent. And now they are doing it to her.” He sniffed, and Raquel began to cry with him. “Also, I, uh, I want to tell her that I love her, and that I will do everything in my power to save her.” His voice strengthened again and he sat up straighter. “So I ask you all to help me; to demand that the authorities show her to us, to prove that she is unharmed and is being allowed to avail herself of the due processes of the law. And I ask you to force them to allow medical attention for Nairobi. Let us show them that we will no longer stand idly by and accept tyranny. Thank you.”

He had barely stopped speaking when they could hear a hubbub outside in the street, growing stronger with every second. And that is how the final chapter of the Resistance began.

_tbc_


	5. Promise

_Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again._

_Homer, The Iliad_

_The night before the heist_

The mood was subdued as Sergio and Raquel prepared for bed. They were each caught up in their own thoughts, mentally running through every aspect of the Plan. Had they covered every eventuality? Was there anything they’d missed? As Sergio emerged from the bathroom, he saw Raquel sitting at the dressing table, slowly brushing her hair. She seemed miles away, a slight frown etched between her eyes, and his heart ached. Oh, how he loved this woman. He moved over and ran a hand over her bare shoulder, and her gaze met his in the mirror.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and she reached up to take his hand.

“Nothing.” She smiled, but it was half-hearted at best.

He let it go; he didn’t like to push her. “Long day tomorrow,” he replied instead, “ready to come to bed?”

Her eyes stayed on his for long seconds, before she nodded and dropped his hand. But as soon as he turned away she said, “Sergio?”

He turned back to her and was unsettled by the look on her face. Vulnerable. A little sad.

“Can I feel your skin against mine tonight?” she asked softly, and he nodded without hesitation. It was her way to let him know she needed reassurance, that she was feeling brittle, and he admired her willingness to admit weakness. But truth be told, he could do with some reassurance himself.

As he stripped off his pajama pants he pondered the complexity of this woman he loved. Ninety percent of the time so strong and self-confident that people tended to forget that she had been abused. Hell, even he forgot sometimes, especially when she so boldly initiated sex. And then some days, out of the blue, something would trigger a traumatic memory and she would shrink into herself, suddenly unsure and fragile. The first few times it had happened, he had tried to address it with his considerable intellect. He’d tried to play psychiatrist, to figure out what could have triggered the episode, but his questions only increased her distress. Until on one such occasion, tears had welled in her eyes and she’d pleaded, “Please, _please_, can I just feel your skin against mine?” And that was when it had dawned on him that what she needed on those days were not his intellect, but his emotional support. They would huddle together, their naked bodies pressed together as closely as possible, and he would simply hold her. If she wanted to talk they’d talk, or if she wanted to be intimate he would acquiesce without hesitation, but he would never initiate it. And usually the next day, she would be fine again and it would be as though it had never happened.

He lifted the covers and she slid in next to him, and pressed her body against his.

“Okay?” he murmured and stroked her hair.

“Mmm. Thank you.” They watched each other for a while in comfortable silence. Her eyes traced his features slowly, as though she was mentally mapping them for future recollection, and he found himself doing the same. _Time_. They needed more time. He half-expected her to ask for reassurance about the heist but she didn’t, and he loved her all the more for it. He had none to give, and perhaps she knew that. They were pressed together from breast-bone to knees, and he felt his cock begin to stir. He gave her an apologetic look and put some space between their hips; that was not what tonight was about. But to his surprise she hooked a leg over his and pulled him close again, shifting until his length was wedged against her heat once more.

“It’s all right,” she assured him. “I want all of you tonight.” Her hand came up and ran through his hair as they went back to looking at each other. Her hips were undulating against him almost imperceptibly, and he responded in kind. “Oh,” she said suddenly, her fingers tracing into his beard, “you have a couple of grey hairs.”

“Really?” He was somewhat dismayed by this development, but she promptly dispelled it by leaning forward and kissing them. “Is that a kiss of approval?” he asked, surprised by her reaction.

“Mmm. Makes you look distinguished. And very sexy,” she purred and he laughed, relieved.

“Ah. So you have a thing for men with grey hair?” he asked, delighted to learn something new about her.

But she crinkled her nose. “Not all of them. It depends on the man. But you - I will definitely have a thing for _you_ when you start going grey.”

He grinned and kissed her, and then remembered something from the previous night. “Grey is a reminder that people respond better to an emotional appeal than to the mere promise of money.”

Raquel laughed and leant forward to nuzzle her nose against his. “You really liked the colour code thing, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he said, “yes I did.”

He captured her lips and they kissed for a while, content to be together, to be in love. Eventually Raquel pulled back and sighed. “You know the Police won’t be happy until they have captured us all, don’t you? Even if everything goes well tomorrow, they’ll keep on pursuing us. We will never be left in peace.”

Sergio gently moved her hair out of her face and traced a thumb over her cheek. He hesitated, for once the one who needed some assurance, and then asked, “Do you regret coming to Palawan?”

She began to shake her head even before he had finished speaking. “No.” Tilting her head forward, she brushed her lips against his before repeating, “Sergio, _no_. Not for a single second.”

He smiled, relieved, and pressed his forehead against hers. “I think you’re right. They will never give up until we’re all in prison.” Then after a beat he added meaningfully, “Or dead.”

Her eyes clouded and she lifted a hand to caress his face. “Don’t… I don’t want to live without you,” she said simply, and it was as clear a declaration of love as uttering those three little words.

He wanted nothing more than to respond in kind, but there was something important he needed to say. He took her hand and kissed her palm, then braced himself. “If something goes wrong – if the plan failed… Raquel.” He gripped her hand tightly. “Promise me you’ll run. You give me up if you have to, and you _run_.”

She pulled back, alarmed. “What?! _No_.”

But he would not be swayed. “Please. You have to. For Paula. For Marivi. They need you. Promise me.” Tears welled up as he stared at her imploringly, the memory of his brother asking the same of him the previous time creeping around the edges of his consciousness. “If you don’t, I will call the whole thing off.”

He was completely serious and she felt her eyes well up too. “I don’t think I can,” she whispered, and his thumb caught the tears that escaped from the corner of her eye.

“Yes, you can,” he urged resolutely. “You did it last time when they threatened to take Paula away from you. Well, that threat will become a reality if you’re captured. They’ll send her back to Alberto.” He took her head in both hands and forced her to look him in the eye. “Please, Raquel. Promise me.”

The tears were falling in earnest now, and she shifted her hips and took him inside her. “I promise,” she murmured, and he nodded gratefully and kissed away her tears.

_Safe house_

As soon as he’d finished the broadcast, the Professor picked up the phone to Palermo. “Palermo, we have less than two hours. Begin preparations for Plan El Dorado.”

“Understood. But what about Nairobi? She will not last another two hours,” Palermo stated bluntly.

The Professor closed his eyes wearily. “They won’t allow us to bring in a surgeon. You’ll have to do the best you can.”

Just then Marseille came on the line. “Professor. There’s something you have to see. Switch on the local news.”

Sergio reached for the remote with some trepidation – what if his call to action hadn’t worked? Everything hinged on the public support – they needed the people of Madrid to converge on the bank of Spain in their masses. It was their only hope. He’d heeded Raquel’s reminder to appeal to the emotions of the public, and had put his heart on his sleeve by telling the whole world that he loved her. That _had_ to be enough. He changed the channel to the local station and stared at the screen in astonishment. Then he stood, so suddenly that the chair scuttled backwards on its wheels, and punched the air.

_Command tent_

Colonel Tamayo slumped into a chair as the professor’s broadcast came to an end. “We’re fucked,” he declared, before he began laughing uncontrollably.

Inspector Sierra regarded him with disdain. “The first sign of trouble and Intelligence goes into histrionics. You’re worse than a woman with wet pants, Colonel. People are inherently lazy. They’re not going to be inspired to leave the comfort of their houses by one lousy, jumbled speech.”

Raquel was only half-listening. She was focussed on the murmur outside in the street, and it was growing noticeably louder with each passing minute. Sergio had picked up on her code – _grey _ash – and he had listened to her. _Could it actually have worked_…?

A policeman burst into the tent, his eyes wild. “Sir,” he said urgently, “we need reinforcements. There are more people gathering here than for a Real/Barcelona football match. If they rush the barriers we won’t be able to hold them.”

He’d barely finished speaking when another policeman followed him in. “Colonel,” he reported, “there are two surgeons from Doctors Without Borders at the barrier, demanding to be let in to treat the injured robber.”

Tamayo threw up his hands and glared at the Inspector. “_Royally_ fucked,” he amended, before burying his face in his hands.

If Raquel could have, she would have laughed out loud. But she was still gagged, so all she could do was to smile as much as the gag would allow. _It was working, it was fucking working_.

_One day before the heist_

They were gathered in the classroom for their final lesson. Lisbon leaned against the table as the Professor took his place in front of the gang. Whilst he waited for them to settle and quiet down, she couldn’t help but reflect on the last few days. Whilst she had been careful not to let Sergio see it, she had harboured certain misgivings about joining the heist. It was only natural; her training as an officer of the law was not that easy to overcome. It was who she had been for nearly twenty years, and one did not lose those instincts in the space of a year or two. Leaving Spain for a life with a wanted man was one thing, but to take an active part in a criminal venture was quite another. But really, there had been no choice; she would not be able to live with herself if she allowed state-sponsored torture to take place, not when she was in a position to do something about it. And of course, the prospect of doing this side-by-side with Sergio had an added appeal. To her surprise, the rest of the gang had accepted her without too much fuss, perhaps more in deference to the Professor than to her, but she would take it. She had enjoyed the planning camp – it had much the same energy she experienced with her Police colleagues when they were working a case, the same camaraderie that striving towards a common goal generated, and she realised that that was perhaps the one thing she missed from her old life.

The Professor cleared his throat and all eyes focussed on him. “All that remains is our escape plan,” he began.

Denver groaned. “Please tell me we won’t have to dig another fucking tunnel,” he grumbled, and the others laughed.

“No. No tunnel this time,” the Professor smiled. “That’s the first thing they will look for.” He looked at each of them, and stated enigmatically, “No, this time we are going up instead of down.” He moved to a stand covered with a cloth and took hold of the corner. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you… Plan El Dorado.” He whipped off the cloth with a dramatic gesture and Raquel smothered a fond smile. Sergio certainly had a flair for the theatrical when it suited him. On the stand was a blown-up photo of an army helicopter, and they all stared at it in confusion. Lisbon watched with interest as they shared uncomfortable looks; none of them were keen to question the Professor’s plans. She wondered who would voice their doubts first; her money was on Nairobi. She was a refreshingly straightforward woman.

And right on cue Nairobi said, “Whoa, Professor. You think the Police will allow us to land a helicopter on the front lawn and just take off with the gold?”

The Professor grinned as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’m glad you asked, Nairobi. What do you think?”

“No,” she said promptly. “They’ll blow it up, probably with all of us inside.”

“Yes. That is exactly what they will do, if given the chance,” he agreed. He nodded at Lisbon and she stepped forward.

“There is a helipad on the roof of the bank,” she informed them. “If we can get into the air and over the crowds gathered in the street, they wouldn’t dare shoot it down. The collateral damage would be too great. The debris would fall on innocent civilians, and they cannot afford that.”

Nairobi was still not convinced. “But why would they allow it to land on the roof in the first place?”

The Professor and Lisbon shared a look. “Because we are going to distract them.”

“How?”

“By paving the streets with gold.”

_Command tent_

“Sir,” the young policeman said again, when Tamayo said nothing further. “The doctors?”

The Colonel rose wearily and tugged at his tie, loosening it. “Let them in,” he instructed.

Inspector Sierra stepped forward. “Colonel, that is a mistake. If you cave now, you will undo all the pressure I have managed to build on the Professor.”

Tamayo stared at her incredulously. “Pressure? On the Professor? Look out there, Inspector. What you’ve managed to do is to bring the whole fucking Madrid to our doorstep. All the pressure is on _us_!”

Alicia looked around for support, but no-one in the tent would look her in the eye. The Colonel had identified his scapegoat, and none of the others were keen to be lumped in with her. Her eye fell on Raquel and she stepped over to her and yanked down the gag.

“Ow! God,” Raquel gasped before she could stop herself, and gingerly worked her jaw from side to side.

“This is _your_ fault,” Alicia fumed.

“It really isn’t,” Raquel responded, still distracted by the pain. She never saw the blow coming. The slap reverberated around the tent and everyone froze. It was possible to hear a pin drop in the resulting silence.

Raquel saw stars and her ears rang from the force of it, and she was only vaguely aware of someone saying, “Hey!” She belatedly recognised Angel’s voice. She tasted blood, and when she opened her eyes again Alicia was right in her face.

“All of this for a fuck?” the Inspector hissed viciously. “How long before the Professor gets tired of you, of your frigidity? You see, we talked to your ex-husband after you scarpered with his daughter-“

Raquel yanked her head up at that. “_My_ daughter-“

“-and he told us that for years before the divorce you did not want to have sex with him. You were the one that ruined the marriage, and then you tried to frame him for abuse when he left you.”

“That’s enough,” Angel said forcefully and tried to step forward, but the Colonel blocked his path with a warning look.

Raquel laughed mirthlessly. “Is that what this is about? Alberto Vicuna? Don’t worry, Alicia. You can have him. I don’t give a single fuck what he does. In fact, please take him; it would save my sister a lot of pain and heart-ache.”

“_What_?!” Alicia glared at her, ready to strike again, but Raquel was beyond caring.

“You think I don’t know that you slept with my husband while I was pregnant? That you were after him for years, but then he married _me_?” Alicia drew back her arm to slap Raquel again, but this time Angel shrugged off the Colonel and stepped in to restrain her. Raquel barrelled on. “Do you know what Alberto’s party-piece was, Alicia? After he’d hit me, he would stand over me and tell me about his sexual conquests. Maria Alonso who works with him in the lab. You at that fucking negotiator’s conference – the one I couldn’t attend because I was pregnant with Paula? Countless more. So yes, you’re welcome to the prick. I never want to see him again in my life.”

She was unaware that she was crying until Angel said softly, “Raquel,” and put a hand on her shoulder.

Back at the safe house, Sergio closed his eyes. He should be there; he should be the one to comfort her, not Angel. When he opened them again, the table was scattered with pieces of red paper, his latest origami figure unconsciously shredded to pieces as he listened to her pain.

Raquel shrugged off the hand. “No, Angel.” She turned back to the Inspector. “All of this for a fuck, you say? No. This is about so much more – it is about standing up against a system that can no longer be trusted.” She lifted her chin. “The system that failed me when I reported a man for abuse, and that will have failed Paula too if she is ever returned to a violent man’s custody. My God – torture? Using a child to lure its mother to her death? Plots to kill a bunch of robbers rather than to arrest them and go through the due process of the law? Do you people even realise you’re behaving worse than the criminals?!” Everyone in the tent had frozen, and none of them made eye contact with each other. Raquel took a shuddering breath and added more quietly, “Sergio may be a thief, but he has more honour than all of you combined.”

Sergio stilled, aware that something had shifted in the ether. She had used his real name. Up till now she had studiously avoided that – had called him the Professor in the presence of the authorities. So what had changed? Was it deliberate? Or had she simply reached the end of her tether?

Raquel’s diatribe was met by a long silence in the tent. She stared down at her lap, aware that she had shown too much. They were getting to her, and as a result she had allowed Raquel to take over. She breathed deeply and tried desperately to force Lisbon to the forefront once more.

The silence was eventually broken by Angel. “She’s right,” he conceded, and when Inspector Sierra opened her mouth to protest he shut her down summarily. “No! She is. I have lost count of the number of regulations we have breached on this operation. She’s right about that.” He sank down on his haunches in front of Raquel and put his hands on her knees. “But you’re also wrong, Raquel. About Marquina’s honour.” Her eyes flew to his, flashing with anger, and he hurried on. “For all his claims that he doesn’t want to hurt anyone, what has he done in reality? Three of his own people were killed during the first heist, and two police officers seriously injured. A hostage shot and injured. And this time? Another one of his gang shot – two, in fact, as far as he knows. And one of them the woman he claims to love! He may not have pulled the trigger himself, but none of these people would have been here if it hadn’t been for him – for his grand plan.”

Sergio listened, and the weight of the world settled on his shoulders. Was this the moment he had secretly feared throughout the last year of bliss? Was this the moment when Raquel would see him for what he really was – a man who had dragged all these people into his world, for his own personal crusade?

Raquel shook her head. “He didn’t force anyone to join him – we all made our own choices,” she said stubbornly, but Angel continued mercilessly.

“And what about the emotional impact? Is he even aware that all those hostages had to see psychiatrists to help them cope with the trauma? Does he care? And what about us; he ruined both our careers-“

“And poor Prieto can’t get it up any more,” Tamayo interjected gloomily, perhaps concerned that the same dim prospect laid in his own future, and momentarily derailing Angel.

“Er… right. And for what? To enrich himself and his friends.” Angel pointed a finger towards the television, where masses of people were filling the streets, many dressed in red and waving placards. _Fuck the system_. _Free Lisboa_. _Love over war_. _Torture is wrong_. “And what about all this? You must know it cannot end well. There will be bloodshed, and innocent people will be killed.” When she had nothing to say to that he added, “How is that honourable? Tell me, Raquel. Because I can’t see it. You’re a smart woman – how do you not grasp how naïve it is to buy into this Resistance bullshit he is selling?”

Sergio had stopped breathing and he gripped the table with both hands. Nothing in the world mattered more than her next words. _Please, Raquel_.

Raquel felt as though she was sinking. She stared at the TV, but the only images she saw were memories. Sergio teaching Paula to make a paper kite. Sergio pulling her into the water, clothes and all. Sergio kissing her, making love to her, making her feel like the centre of the universe. And Sergio pleading with her to run. For Paula. For her mother. _Promise me. I promise._ She closed her eyes, overwhelmed and bone-achingly, deathly tired. When she spoke her voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what to do. I feel like a paper boat blown around by a hurricane.”

Angel squeezed her knee. “Help us, please. Help us end this without bloodshed. That’s all I ask.”

Still she said nothing, just stared at the flickering images on the television. _Professor + Lisboa_ in a red heart, _Stronger together_ written below it.

Angel glanced at Colonel Tamayo, sensing that she was wavering. “Help us, and we’ll let you go. To be with Paula and your mother. The authorities will stop looking for them. I give you my word.”

That drew a cynical laugh from her. “I’m not _that_ naïve,” she retorted dully. “The word of the authorities are worth shit.”

Tamayo stepped forward. “I will put it in writing – an official presidential pardon if you help us, and a guarantee that you and your family will be left alone.”

Sergio nervously chewed on a nail when she did not respond immediately. He was torn between his own drive for survival and his need for her to be free. To be _alive_. After what felt like centuries her voice came through to him once more, strangled by emotion.

“All right. Once I have the presidential pardon in my hands I will tell you how they plan to escape.”

Even as she agreed to betray him, Sergio did not hesitate. He did not wait to hear anything further, but snatched up the phone. “Palermo. Marseille. Get ready for phase one of Plan El Dorado _now_.” Then he was on his feet and out the door.

_tbc_


	6. Silver

_The difficulty is not so great to die for a friend, as to find a friend worth dying for._

_Homer, The Iliad_

_Command tent_

Raquel sat in huddled misery as feverish activity swirled around her. She was vaguely aware of Tamayo talking urgently into a phone, of Special Forces scurrying in and out with increasingly dire reports of the situation – the _mood_ – on the street. She heard a radio crackle and a report that the door had opened to admit the doctors, which was confirmed by a loud roar of approval from the masses. The roar was replaced, moments later, by a chant that grew louder with every second that passed: _Free Lisboa! Free Lisboa!_ And she was aware, acutely so, of Alicia watching her with focussed intensity throughout it all. She didn’t care. Her distress, her fear for Sergio, was very real. _Please let it take long enough for them to procure the presidential pardon to give him a chance_. In the meantime, she sought refuge in her memories. It amazed her how many good ones she had assembled in the short time she had known Sergio. How was it possible to make more memories in a year with him than it had been in eight with her ex-husband? Her heart constricted. _I’m sorry, darling. So very sorry. _

_Six months earlier, Palawan_

They were curled together in one of the hanging chairs on the porch, watching the moon come up over the ocean. Raquel’s head was nestled against Sergio’s shoulder and she couldn’t stop smiling. Who knew she could be this happy? She glanced up at the man who had made it possible, and was gratified to see the same silly smile of contentment plastered on his face. His glasses reflected the light and it was only when he spoke that she became aware that he had been looking at her too.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmured as his hand slid down to mould onto her hip. She shivered with the first tendril of arousal.

“Yes. Very handsome,” she teased and he grinned, not at all put out at getting caught staring.

She settled back against him and traced the exposed skin above the buttons of his shirt. The moon was a huge orb on the horizon and it painted a pale silver path over the water. It was a perfect night, and she had her perfect life, with the perfect man. She was in love - hopelessly, head-over-heels so, and she was certain of being loved the same in return, even if he’d never spoken the words again since their reunion. And perhaps it was all of this perfection that made her open her mouth and say what she did next. Because Raquel Murillo was a pragmatic woman, and she’d had to endure enough misery in her life to know that perfect happiness seldom lasted.

“Darling… You know this can’t last, don’t you?”

He stiffened under her touch and she hastened on, lest he get the wrong idea. “They will keep looking for us – for all of you, and eventually someone will get caught.”

Sergio relaxed again and tightened his arm around her. “I know.”

“I want it to last, though,” she whispered, popping open the first button and sliding her hand inside his shirt, suddenly craving more of his skin under her touch. She looked up at him, wanting him to see the sincerity in her eyes when she added, “I’ve never been so happy.”

He gazed at her, touched and overwhelmed. “I’m glad,” he responded and lowered his head to hers. “I want it to last too. I’m working on it,” he vowed, and then his lips were on hers and her worries disappeared. Sergio would find a way.

God, she loved kissing him. He was a good kisser; and the contrast of soft lips and coarse beard only heightened the pleasure for her. Her hands wove into his hair, ran over his cheeks as she sought as much tactile stimulation as she could find. She loved his soft, thick hair, couldn’t get enough of the feel of it between her fingers. His tongue touched hers and she moaned, the sensation shooting straight to her core. It continued to amaze her how strong her desire for this man was, no matter how many times they’d been intimate. Some days all it took was a look, or a word, and she would be wet for him. It should be ridiculous - she was 41 years old, for God’s sake – and yet nothing had ever felt so _right_. He groaned and she had the sudden sensation of floating; she was in his arms and he was moving purposefully into the house. It was a reminder that it was the same for him; his desire for her was as strong as hers for him. It delighted her that she could make him - usually so rational and in control - give in to his baser instincts in the blink of an eye. They only made it as far as the large wooden table, and by the time he put her down on it she had unbuttoned his shirt. It was late and Paula and Marivi had long since gone to bed, so the chances of anyone walking in on them was remote. She didn’t care; she couldn’t think any further than getting his belt open, than having him inside her.

He pulled at the hem of her shirt and she briefly abandoned fumbling with his zipper to lift her arms so that he could pull the garment over her head and toss it away. She wasn’t wearing a bra and he wasted no time before latching onto one breast, the nipple already achingly erect. Her back arched, pushing her further into his hot mouth, and she hissed almost inaudibly and grabbed his head to keep him there. As his tongue swirled expertly around and over the taut bud, driving her to distraction, he tapped her hip and she lifted them so he could pull off her loose cotton pants and underwear, impressed that he could still multi-task despite the ample evidence that most of his blood had already rushed to his groin. After that there was no more coherent thought; he lifted her and she wrapped her arms and legs around him so that he could lower her onto his length slowly. They stopped breathing until he was buried to the hilt, and then released the pent-up air simultaneously, their lips hovering inches from each other. Her head fell back as the pleasure swept through her, but she kept looking at him through her lashes, unable to tear her gaze away. They stayed like that for a few seconds, adjusting to the way he filled her, until she nodded and he laid her down again. He began to thrust, gripping her hips and staring down at her with lust-filled eyes, his gaze shifting from where they were joined, to her breasts that juddered with every thrust, to her eyes. And she watched him watch her, the look on his face turning her on to almost unbearable levels. He exhibited remarkable restraint, keeping his movements slow and steady, building her up towards release, until she dug a heel into his butt. _I’m ready_. Then he let go, thrusting hard, fast, _deep_, until his chest glistened with sweat and she saw stars. She came hard, a muted gasp escaping her as she convulsed around him, pulling him over the edge too.

When she became aware of her surroundings again, she was sprawled over him. He had collapsed into the nearest chair and she was pressed against his chest, their sweat mingling.

“…_Fuck_,” she mumbled, wanting him to know how good that had been but unable to engage her brain long enough to come up with something more eloquent, and he laughed.

His hand wove into her hair and he dropped his mouth to her shoulder, licking at the salt there. “Agreed,” he rumbled, his voice muffled against her skin, and astonishingly she felt the flame of arousal begin to kindle once again.

Oh, Christ, she was so screwed. When had she become this insatiable? She grabbed his head with both hands, forcing him to look at her, letting him see the naked want in her eyes as she asked urgently, “You’ll find a way to make this last?”

His eyes darkened and he nodded. “I’ll find a way,” he promised, “I _swear_ I will,” before his mouth descended on hers and devoured her.

A week later, they went to see a Russian dentist in Phuket.

_Command tent_

Raquel was dragged out of her reminiscence by the scrape of a chair over the rough pavement. She looked up to see Alicia plonk it down next to her and lower herself gratefully into it. Raquel rolled her eyes and turned her head away; she was done acknowledging this woman, but Alicia was undeterred. She began to unwrap a lollipop, the crinkling of the paper making Raquel realise how thirsty she was. How long had it been since she’d had anything to eat or drink?

“Raquel,” Alicia said as she popped the sweet into her mouth with a satisfied smack of her lips. Then she smirked. “Or should I call you Lisbon now?” She sucked noisily before she continued, “You know, I don’t understand.”

Raquel huffed a mirthless laugh. “You wouldn’t,” she said resignedly, looking for Angel. Perhaps she could appeal to him for a glass of water. But he was across the tent with a phone pressed to his ear, keeping a wary eye on the two women in case another fight broke out.

Alicia smiled around the lollipop. “What, you think you’re the only woman who’s ever been in looovvee?” she wheedled, but Raquel would not be baited.

“No. Simply that those without principles could never understand when those who do have some take a stand for them.”

The Inspector’s smile slid from her face but she did not respond; she merely watched the other woman intently until a feeling of unease began to settle in the pit of Raquel’s stomach. “But you do love him; the Professor,” she said eventually, tilting her head inquisitively. “So why the sudden willingness to sell him out?” When Raquel said nothing, she added, “I mean, you wouldn’t do it with a gun pressed to your head, so what has changed, hmm? What was the thirty pieces of silver that convinced you?”

Raquel’s heart thumped against her ribs. She took refuge in the truth. As she spoke she finally looked at Alicia, to let the Inspector see the anguish threatening to consume her. “Yes. I do love him. I didn’t know it was possible to love someone so completely until I met him. Sergio.” Her voice wavered on his name and she took a shuddering breath before she could continue. “But I have to think of my daughter. I know you don’t believe me about the abuse, but perhaps this is what it will take to persuade you that I’m telling the truth.” She was aware of Angel coming into earshot. “I am scared to death of what will happen to my daughter if I can’t return to her. So scared that I see no other choice but to betray the man I love to prevent it.” She sniffled before concluding tearily, “I will hate myself for the rest of my life, but at least Paula will be safe.” Then she added, with a nod to the other woman’s stomach, “One day soon you will understand.”

Alicia did not respond, but her hand involuntarily went to her stomach and Raquel’s heart skipped a beat. Angel looked between the two women uncomfortably before he cleared his throat. “Raquel, we have the presidential pardon.” He held up a piece of paper, unable to hide his triumph as she looked at him in consternation.

“Already?” she asked, too dismayed to notice the sharp look Alicia gave her.

“The President wants this to be over as soon as possible,” Angel explained, oblivious to Raquel’s discomfort. “He rushed it through. So. We’ve delivered on our end of the agreement – time for you to do the same. How do they plan to escape with the gold?”

Raquel’s shoulders sagged as she fought to keep the panic at bay. _Time_. They needed more time. “Uhm, can I have a glass of water and some aspirin please? My head is killing me.”

“Yes of course. Suarez, I think we can uncuff her now, don’t you?” he said as he rushed off to fetch the water and pills.

And so, five minutes later, she found herself uncuffed but surrounded by men, as Tamayo, Suarez and Angel stood over her, waiting for her to betray Sergio. She swallowed hard and could barely get the words out. “Before I tell you anything, I have a favour to ask.” She looked to Angel, and her fear was plain to see. “I want your word that you will not summarily execute the robbers when you catch them. Please, I beg you. Let him live.”

Angel looked to Colonel Tamayo, who nodded slowly. “All right.”

Raquel stared at him long and hard, but could see no evidence that he did not mean it. She nodded too and took a steadying breath. Then she began to talk. “The plan is to land a helicopter on the roof. It will ferry them to a small private airfield on the outskirts of Madrid, where a private jet is waiting. They will be out of Spanish airspace within an hour of leaving the bank.”

Suarez frowned. “Why would we let them land a helicopter on the roof?” he queried, and she smiled.

“Because your hands will be tied by the crowds in the streets.” She looked around at the men. “I think we can all agree that it would not be advisable to shoot down that helicopter where burning debris can fall on innocent civilians. Your best bet is to arrest them at the airport. They only have five hired guns protecting it.”

The Colonel watched impatiently as Suarez considered. “Agreed,” the Special Forces man said after a few seconds, and Tamayo turned to Raquel.

“Which airport?” he demanded, and she closed her eyes.

For the longest time she said nothing, and he was about to ask again when, in a voice so soft they had to strain to hear her, she told them.

_Bank of Spain_

Marseille let the multitudes carry him along towards the barriers. The mood was almost euphoric, as though the people were relieved to finally have a reason to do something about their wretched lives. He was awash in a sea of red, and he lustily joined in the chanting. _Free Lisboa! Free Lisboa!_ But through it all he kept a close eye on both the command tent and the windows of the bank. He spotted one of the Serbians at the barrier across the square. He was hard to miss, being such a huge man, and the police forces manning the barrier in front of him eyed him nervously. _Free Lisboa! Free Lisboa!_ The call echoed around him, and he wondered how much longer the crowd would wait. The mood was reaching fever pitch, and if the Professor did not give the order soon, they would lose control of the whole thing. Just then the Professor’s voice crackled in his ear. “Palermo, commence phase one of Plan El Dorado.” And almost immediately one of the upper windows of the bank slid open.

_Command tent_

“I think we should get her out of here,” Angel said as they listened uneasily to the growing clamour outside. They were standing a few feet away from Raquel, who sat on the chair listlessly, nursing the glass of water. She looked completely broken by what she had done, and all he wanted was to get her away from here, to get her somewhere safe.

“I agree,” Inspector Sierra said to his surprise. “But you better disguise her in a Police uniform or something; if she is recognised you’ll be mobbed.”

Angel nodded, it was a good suggestion. “I’ll take her over there to get changed,” he said, indicating the divider that screened a few sleeping cots from the rest of the tent.

Alicia waited until they were out of earshot before she spoke again. “Colonel, Raquel Murillo is taking us for a ride,” she declared without preamble.

The Colonel and Suarez stared at her. “What makes you say that?” Suarez asked.

“Her reaction when Angel presented her with the presidential pardon. She’s trying to buy time, and I think she’s sending us on a wild goose chase to this private airfield for the same reason. And while we are distracted with that, they’ll take off and merrily fly away in the helicopter.”

“Angel believes her,” Suarez pointed out, “and he knows her well.”

“Oh of _course_ he believes her,” Alicia exclaimed, exasperated by the obtuseness of men. “He’ll believe anything she feeds him, because he wants to get into her skirt. He stupidly thinks that if he can remove the Professor from the scene, Raquel will turn to him for comfort. But she won’t. She knows that he is doing this as much to win her affection than he is out of concern about innocent lives. She sees through him, and she will resent him for trying to manipulate her.”

“So what do we do?” Tamayo asked.

“We shoot down that helicopter as soon as it begins to take off from the roof. That way we’ll know they’re all in there, and most of the debris will fall on the roof. The collateral damage will be minimal.”

“I don’t think-“ Suarez began to object, but the Colonel overrode him summarily.

“Agreed. I want to get rid of these bastards once and for all. If we don’t, they’ll continue to turn up repeatedly, like a bad penny, until there is nothing left to steal in the whole fucking country.”

Raquel was not close enough for the transmitter to pick up this discussion, but even if she were, the professor was no longer there to hear it.

Suarez’s radio crackled. “Sir, something is happening at the bank – they’re pushing something out of the windows.”

They moved over to the TV monitor and squinted at it. “It looks like some sort of gutter or pipe,” Suarez guessed, and they looked at each other in confusion.

“I think it’s about to start,” Alicia exclaimed and swung around. “Angel! Get her out of here now.”

Smoke started billowing from the pipes, obscuring the building in a cloud of grey within minutes. The radio crackled again. “There’s a helicopter approaching,” someone reported, and Alicia snatched the handset from Suarez.

“Get an image of it and send it here now,” she commanded. “Colonel,” she began, but he was already ordering an attack helicopter into the air. Moments later the image popped up. It was blurry but they could just about make out the pilot and a bearded man with glasses seated next to him.

“That’s him, that’s the Professor,” Tamayo breathed, a trace of jubilation in his voice. He turned to Suarez. “I am ordering you to shoot it down as soon as it tries to take off again.”

Angel guided Raquel out the back of the tent and she stopped, amazed at the scene before her. There must have been almost a hundred thousand people gathered there, chanting her name as one. Smoke billowed from the pipes and drifted over the crowd, making it hard to distinguish Police from protestor. It was chaos. She turned to Angel. “I kept my side of the agreement. Let me go, Angel.” He was clutching her arm and when she tried to shake him off, he tightened his hold.

“No, Raquel. Stay with me. It’s dangerous out here,” he urged, looking around worriedly, and the next moment a cry went up.

“Gold! It’s gold!”

As they watched little balls of gold began to spew from the pipes and roll down the streets, and the Police’s tenuous control of the crowd finally snapped. The protestors surged forward, swamping the officers and flattening the barriers in a matter of seconds. The multitudes swarmed around them and a man appeared at Angel’s shoulder, and the policeman froze as he felt the barrel of a gun dig into his kidneys. “Let her go,” Marseille said close to his ear, and Angel looked back to Raquel, stricken, all his hopes for a future with her evaporating before his eyes.

She smiled at him sadly. She knew what he had hoped for, of course she did. She had known all along. “Forget about me,” she said gently. “You deserve better than to be with someone who only loves you as a friend, Angel. Remember how unhappy Mari Carmen had been all those years, waiting for you to fall in love with her? I don’t want that for you, but I can’t offer any more than friendship. So please, let me go. For your own sake.”

The barrel dug in deeper and he slackened his grip reluctantly, and the next moment Raquel was gone, vanished into the smoke and chaos.

_Command tent_

The attack helicopter arrived at the scene just as the other began to lift from the roof. Alicia watched the screen with bated breath, saw the glowing streak of the missile as it clove through the smoke, and then a massive explosion as the escape helicopter vanished in a ball of fire. A tremendous boom rolled over the crowd and the tent, and startled silence settled in its wake.

And it was into this silence that the lead technician suddenly exclaimed, “Aha!” All eyes turned to him in astonishment. “We traced the Professor’s signal – it comes from a house in the northern suburbs,” he declared triumphantly.

Tamayo made a frustrated noise and looked like he might strangle the man, but when Alicia began to laugh, they all joined in.

It was over. They had won; it was finally over.

_tbc_


	7. Lazarus

_No finer, greater gift in the world than that: When man and woman possess their home, two minds, two hearts that work as one. Despair to their enemies, a joy to all their friends. Their own best claim to glory._

_Homer, The Odyssey_

_Two months later, Palawan_

Raquel sat on the warm sand, her arms around her knees, and watched Paula and Marivi splash around in the water. When Paula called out to her she smiled and waved, but her thoughts were far away. She missed him terribly. Resting her chin on her knees she stared out at the water, remembering all those walks on the beach, hand-in-hand, talking about everything and nothing. She remembered kissing in the water, overcome with love and unable to believe her luck. She sighed; everything here reminded her of him, yet she didn’t mind. She didn’t want to forget, not ever. But she missed him every second of every day. Paula and her mother did their best to cheer her up, and Marseille checked on her every now and then, but nothing could really make up for his absence.

She was violently wrenched back into the present by a sudden high-pitched squeal from Paula and sprang to her feet in alarm. But the girl was not in trouble; she was jumping up and down in the water and waving her arms wildly. “Sergio!” she called, pointing down the beach. “Mama, it’s Sergio!”

Raquel’s heart leapt into her throat and she turned to look, shielding her eyes against the sun. A man was walking towards them along the sand, his dark hair ruffling in the breeze. She struggled to make out his features against the bright light, but gradually they became clearer as he drew near. Tall, thin frame. Dark beard. Glasses- She didn’t wait to see any more, her feet digging into the sand as she rushed towards him. It was _him_. It was Sergio. They halted about a foot apart, drinking each other in, overwhelmed by too many emotions. Raquel was the first to recover her voice. “Sergio,” she breathed. “What took you so long?”

And he threw back his head and laughed, overjoyed, before he swept her up in his embrace.

***

_Two months earlier, Madrid_

_Two minutes before the explosion_

Angel still stood in the same spot where Raquel had left him five minutes ago. The crowd swirled around him, jostling him in their haste to get to the little gold balls that were skittering all over the place. She had disappeared into the smoke and although he hadn’t actually seen it, he knew she had run into the bank. Back to _him_. The Professor. But why? Why would she get in the helicopter with them if she knew that the Police were waiting at the airport? Unless… _Oh, fuck_. He turned and began to fight his way through the crowd, back to the tent, when he heard the second helicopter approach. He looked up and saw it hover over the scene, its rotors blasting away the smoke, the missiles mounted at its sides unmistakable. Oh, no. _Raquel_. “Noo!” he shouted desperately, shouldering people out of the way. “Don’t fire! Raquel- Raquel is in there with them-“ But he was too late. One of the missiles disengaged and streaked towards the other helicopter, which had begun to lift into the air. He watched in horror as it exploded, as all his dreams of a future with her went up in a ball of fire. He burst into the tent, his eyes wild, and everyone turned to him in surprise. “She was with them,” he said miserably, and when they stared at him uncomprehendingly he shouted, “Raquel! She got away from me and she was with them.”

Suarez closed his eyes, saddened, but the Colonel and the Inspector merely exchanged a look, and he could see their relief. They didn’t care at all. To them it was an unexpected bonus – finally they were rid of the Professor and the woman who had betrayed them, as well as the whole sorry cohort of bandits.

_Aftermath_

The repercussions reverberated throughout government circles and the Security Forces for months after the event. The authorities were roundly criticised for summarily blowing up the escape helicopter and civil rights groups became involved to fight for legislation that would prevent such actions in future. The wreck had burnt at such high temperatures that there had been no bodies left to recover, only the teeth remained. The experts deduced that they must have had extra fuel tanks attached to the helicopter, hence the intensity of the blaze. The dental records of all known associates of the Professor was obtained and a team of pathologists worked around the clock, and by the end of the week they confirmed that all of them, including former Inspector Raquel Murillo, had been accounted for. DNA tests were done on some of the teeth and confirmed the findings. The Professor, Lisbon and all their accomplices were dead. The news was met with howls of outrage and further protest marches, and shrines sprang up all over Madrid and the world. They became martyrs. Street art celebrated their daring escapades, and the red overalls and Dali masks were a constant in any protest action that took place. The doomed love story of the Professor and Lisbon attained mythical proportions and there was talk of a movie.

Inspector Sierra and Colonel Tamayo faced disciplinary hearings as the government scrambled to apportion blame in the face of the public backlash, and Angel and Suarez were the main witnesses against them. The Inspector went into labour before the proceedings could be concluded, and in the end resigned in disgrace. Tamayo was suspended and demoted, and to his despair did suffer the same fate as his predecessor, Colonel Prieto, in the performance department.

Miraculously the Security Forces had not fired a single shot on the ground during the whole incident, although many protestors sustained injuries from being clubbed with police batons. There were also some serious injuries from the falling debris of the helicopter. Suarez later received praise for the low injury count – for ensuring there had been no use of excessive force by the Police once the protestors began to breach the barriers.

Arturo Roman and Alberto Vicuna tried to paint themselves as the real victims who had lost their children to criminals, and called for any information to help them find their son and daughter respectively. But the public did not buy their act, and instead reviled the authorities for depriving two innocent children of their mothers. No trace was ever found of the children and the two men soon gave up. The children had always been little more than a way to get to their mothers, anyway, and neither were keen to be saddled with the sudden responsibility of raising their offspring on their own.

And the gold? There was none in the wreckage, and the authorities tried to cover that up, but it leaked out somehow and caused a furore. The Professor and his co-conspirators had been true to their word – they had not tried to steal a single ounce of gold. Instead they had sent it all out into the streets, had redistributed the wealth to the people. They were heroes, not criminals.

No-one, not even the cynical Inspector Sierra, suspected that they had been played. They had no inkling that they had been outmanoeuvred by a master chess player and his shrewd female accomplice. As the Professor had told the citizens of Madrid right at the beginning, this time it had been about family. He’d promised Raquel he would find a way to secure their future, and the capture of Rio had presented him with the perfect opportunity. In the eyes of the world they were dead, and now they were free. To live where they wanted, to love, to be a family with Paula and Marivi. It had taken daring, some luck, and careful planning, but together they had pulled it off.

And this is how.

** _Plan Lazarus_ **

_Half an hour before the explosion_

Sergio listened with increasing distress as Angel reminded Raquel of all the deaths that had occurred during the previous heist; of everything that had gone wrong and of all the damage he had unintentionally caused, and his fears grew. Would she finally realise that he was not worthy of her, that she could do so much better? With Angel perhaps, who admittedly was rather dull, but who could at least offer her stability rather than a life on the run? He was so caught up in his self-doubt that he almost missed the words. _I feel like a paper boat blown around by a hurricane_, Raquel said, and his eyes flew to the little object standing proudly next to his origami figures. He grabbed it and carefully unfolded it, to find that something was written on the back of the paper. He flattened it and began to read.

_I’m sorry, darling. So very sorry. We agreed never to lie to each other, but I can’t keep my promise to run. If you read this it means I’ve been captured and you got my hint to look at the paper boat. I can’t give you up again; it nearly killed me the last time. If I’m caught, I’m going to double-bluff – I’ll try to negotiate my release by ostensibly betraying you. I’ll tell them we planned to escape with the helicopter to an airfield and that they can arrest you there, but at the same time sow enough doubt to make them suspect that it’s a set-up and that I’m trying to buy time for you to get away. You must send the helicopter as soon as you read this – because of the doubt I’ll create they won’t be able to resist shooting it down. If it doesn’t work, I know you’ll look after Paula and Mama._

So when he heard her tell them about the helicopter, he sprang into action. He ordered Palermo to release the gold into the streets, and he instructed Marseille and the Serbians to be ready to snatch Raquel at the command tent. Then he called another number and spoke in Russian. “Plan Lazarus is activated. Warm up the helicopter, I’m on my way.” He double-checked that he had the bag of teeth, and then he ran out the door.

_One day before the heist, monastery classroom_

Tokyo tilted her head as the Professor explained about the helicopter and releasing the gold into the streets. “I still don’t see how it can work,” she objected, and Nairobi nodded in agreement. “Won’t they simply wait until we are out of the city and then shoot us down?”

The Professor looked between them. “Possibly. But that is what we want.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Denver exclaimed, “you want them to kill us? That doesn’t sound like the best plan ever,” he complained.

“That is exactly what we want them to do,” Lisbon filled in, “we want them to kill us. All of us.”

This statement was met with an uncomfortable silence, during which the Professor and Lisbon shared a long, meaningful look.

“Do you know the story of Lazarus? From the Bible?” the Professor asked, and to everyone’s surprise it was Palermo that answered.

“He died, and then Jesus brought him back to life again after a few days.”

When the others stared at him in astonishment, he shrugged. “What? You don’t live in a monastery for months and not pick up a few things here and there.”

“Palermo is correct,” the Professor confirmed, “and that is what we’re going to do. We’re going to die, and then come back to life.”

Nairobi shook her head; perhaps all that lying around on wooden installations had damaged their leader’s brain. “No offence, Professor. You may be a genius, but you’re not Jesus. I don’t think it’s within your powers to resurrect people.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Lisbon interjected, tongue firmly in cheek, causing everyone to look at her.

“Uhm.” Sergio wisely chose to ignore that comment. He came to perch on the table next to Lisbon, folded his arms and used his right hand to emphasize the point he wanted to make. “As long as we are out here, free and alive, we are a thorn in the side of the authorities – a burr in their fur that is a constant irritant. Because of that they will never stop searching, never stop pursuing us. This time it is Rio, but even if we save him and get away with it, it will start all over again. Who will it be next time?” He looked down at Lisbon with a tender smile, then added, “The only way to be free is to make them believe we are dead.”

“And how do we do that?” Tokyo asked.

“By letting them kill us,” Lisbon explained. “By dying right in front of their eyes.”

The Professor took over. “The Russians have developed an unmanned helicopter. We will land one of those on the roof, make them think we are all in there, and then let them blow it up.”

“Won’t they notice there aren’t any bodies in the wreckage?” Nairobi queried, and the Professor lifted a finger into the air.

“Ah. But there will be.” When everyone looked befuddled he elaborated. “Or at least, there will be teeth, which is the only part of the human body that can withstand temperatures above a thousand degrees.”

Realisation dawned and Denver rubbed his jaw subconsciously. “The fucking Russian dentist you sent round,” he complained.

“Yes. You each donated one tooth, and although some of you acted like little children and refused to do so initially,” here he looked sternly at Denver, “that was necessary for this part of the plan.”

There were snickers and Denver scowled. “I had a traumatic experience with a dentist as a child, okay?” he grumbled, and Monica gave him a tender but exasperated look.

“No you didn’t,” she scolded. “You were just being a typical man – acting like a baby about a little bit of pain.” She rolled her eyes at Lisbon, who smirked at her.

Palermo opened his mouth and the Professor hastily continued before the man could say anything stupid, as he was wont to do.

“He did replace it with very good implants,” he pointed out, “so I think it was worth the sacrifice.”

Tokyo brought them back to the plan. “But you sent that dentist six months ago. How did you know one of us would get caught?”

“The law of averages,” he replied, then smoothly changed the topic. “The Russians have also developed a technique to clone DNA and transfer it from one host to another. All we needed was one tooth, then we could build a whole set of dentures for each of you. And that is what they will find in the wreckage.”

“So… how will we really get out?” Monica asked.

The Professor smiled. “You’ll simply drive out of the underground parking.”

_Fifteen minutes before explosion_

The Professor reached the hangar where they’d stashed the helicopter in record time. The controller was waiting for him, and the retractable roof was already open. “We’re ready to take off,” the Russian said without preamble, but the Professor held up the bag of dentures.

“I have to distribute this inside first.” As he ducked beneath the turning rotors he stopped short, surprised to see himself in the front seat.

The Russian grinned. “Good, no?”

“Er, very good. Very life-like,” the Professor acknowledged, eyeing the dummy appreciatively. It was even dressed in one of his old suits, which made him suspect the involvement of a certain former police inspectora in this idea. They distributed the teeth, taking care to spread them around. Once he was satisfied the Professor stood back and nodded. “Let’s go.” He placed himself behind the Russian in the control room and watched on the monitors as the aircraft lifted into the air and headed over the city.

_Five minutes before explosion_

As soon as she was free of Angel, Raquel and Marseille dashed towards the bank. The bigger man took the lead, plowing deftly through the multitudes, and she followed in his wake. Her joy on seeing the helicopter land on the roof knew no bounds; the plan was bloody working. They’d had some luck in that Angel had brought her outside, and had dressed her in a police uniform to boot. Now all they needed was for the authorities to shoot down that helicopter. All around them people were on their knees, scooping up little balls of gold, and she wanted to laugh out loud in exultation. _Come on, Alicia, be as smart as I think you are. See through my charade._ Then she heard it, the thumping sound of a second helicopter, and she knew they had taken the bait. “Hurry!” she yelled at Marseille, and they ran around the bank to the side entrance.

And here they struck a second bit of luck. A police motorcycle stood in the street unattended, it’s owner’s helmet perched on the seat, and Lisbon got an idea. She veered towards it. “I’ll escort you out,” she shouted at Marseille when he turned to her with a questioning look. “Marseille,” she added as an afterthought, “only you and Bogota in the front, okay? The others are too well known – someone might recognise them.” He nodded and disappeared down the ramp.

Meanwhile, inside the bank, all the hostages had been forced to their knees, their hands tied behind their backs, and blindfolded. “Hurry up!” Palermo urged his fellow conspirators loudly, “the helicopter will be on the roof in three minutes!” Once done, all members of the gang rushed to the top floor, where they hurriedly changed out of the red overalls. Then they took the private elevator of the Managing Director of the bank down to the parking garage. Helsinki and Bogota carried Nairobi on a stretcher. The doctors had stabilised her and if they could get her specialised medical attention soon, she might survive. They all piled into a waiting ambulance and Bogota took his place up front with Marseille, both of them dressed in paramedic uniforms.

Outside, Lisbon crammed her hair under the helmet and kicked the bike to life, and as she waited for the others to emerge, the escape helicopter exploded high above her in a terrific ball of fire. Her shout of victory was lost in the ear-splitting boom that rolled over the city a fraction of a second later. The reverberations had barely dissipated when an ambulance appeared from the underground garage, its lights flashing.

As they shot up the ramp Bogota saw a police motorbike, and he stiffened and reached for his gun, but Marseille slapped his hand down.

“It’s Lisbon,” he informed them, and Tokyo’s head snapped up.

“Lisbon is alive?” she asked urgently, afraid that she had heard incorrectly. Marseille nodded and she sagged back in her seat in relief. _Thank God_. She had dreaded seeing the Professor after her and Rio’s irresponsibility had cost him the love of his life.

She watched as Lisbon flicked on the bike’s siren and began to escort them through the crowds. To freedom.

_Twenty minutes after the explosion_

Sergio paced the hangar impatiently, looking at his watch every few minutes. The city was gridlocked and it was taking them longer than anticipated to reach the hangar. Although Marseille had reported the recovery of Lisbon, he needed to see her with his own eyes, alive and unharmed, before he would truly believe it. The memory of hearing the Police execute her was still raw, and he knew that it would only fade once he could hold her, could feel her under his hands once more. At long last he heard the sirens approach, and motioned to the Russian to open the doors.

The motorbike and ambulance swept in, and the hangar doors closed again behind them. Sergio watched anxiously as everyone piled out of the ambulance, looking for Raquel. But she was not there and his heart stopped. Had something gone wrong? Had he lost her after all? Out of the corner of his eye he saw the motorcyclist take off the helmet and shake out long hair, and he swung round. It was _her_. Thank God, it was her. She was really alive and she was here. “Raquel,” he breathed. She saw him and unceremoniously dropped the helmet with a clatter that startled everyone, and rushed to him. He caught her and lifted her as her arms wound around his neck and then they were kissing, oblivious to their audience. First there was a series of short, repeated kisses between giddy laughing, before he slid a hand to the back of her head and deepened the kiss, and they became lost in each other.

Tokyo looked at Rio, her heart breaking as his eyes slid away from hers. She was happy for the Professor, but she knew that she and Rio would never have that again. For them, the dream was over. They had burned too brightly and they had consumed each other, and now they would go their separate ways.

Eventually Raquel put some distance between them, but she didn’t let go completely. Her palms continued to frame Sergio’s face and she looked at him searchingly. The shadows still lurked behind his eyes and she shook his head gently. “I’m here, darling. I’m okay,” she assured him, and he heaved a heavy sigh of relief.

“I love you,” he said, not wanting her to go another minute without him telling her to her face, and she smiled.

“I know. You already told me,” she reminded him, then added after a beat, “although it is nice to hear it without a chicken staring at me.”

He laughed and enveloped her in a hug. She was still the same Raquel, with her sharp wit and her beauty and kindness, and he finally let go of his anguish. Her ordeal had not broken her. And only then he allowed himself to acknowledge it; _they had done it_. Together, they had fooled the authorities and bought their freedom. He had kept his promise to her. But there was still work to be done. She seemed to realise it at the same time as him and they stepped apart, looking at each other resolutely.

“Nairobi needs urgent medical attention,” she informed him briskly, and he gave her hand a final squeeze before turning away and into Professor-mode once more.

For the next ten minutes he handed out folders with new identities and instructions on how they should disperse and disappear once again. Marseille would escort Lisbon back to Palawan and keep an eye on her, whilst the Professor stayed behind to make sure that any loose ends were tied up and to ensure that Nairobi received medical care. With the help of their team of hackers, he would monitor the Spanish Police and Interpol until he was certain that their faces were no longer on any wanted lists, and that no-one was looking for them anymore. Nairobi would remain with him until she was strong enough to leave. When he was certain that they were safe, he would join Raquel in Palawan once more. Hopefully that would not take longer than a month or two.

Before they all went their separate ways, he addressed them one final time. Lisbon stood by his side and he held her hand tightly as he spoke. “We have an opportunity to live free of pursuit, of the fear of being apprehended at any moment.” He looked them in the eye one by one, making sure they realised the importance of what he was saying. “Do not waste this second chance,” he warned. “You can only come back from the dead once. If the authorities realise that even one of us is still alive, it will ruin this for everyone. So use your new-found freedom wisely, for all our sakes.” He looked at each person there, only moving on to the next when each of them had verbally confirmed that they understood. “Good. Now, off you go.”

He turned to Raquel and she took his other hand as well as he pressed his forehead against hers. “Two months,” he vowed. “Sooner, if possible,” and she squeezed his hands in acknowledgement.

“Be careful. I’ll be waiting.” Then, with one final longing look, they parted once more.

***

** _Epilogue_ **

Raquel and Sergio got married four months after the second heist. It was an understated, intimate ceremony on the beach in front of their house, and all their friends managed to attend. Marseille officiated. When Raquel walked down the aisle on Marivi’s arm, barefoot and breath-takingly beautiful in a flowing white dress which left her shoulders bare, Monica wiped away a tear. Her hair was held back by a delicately weaved band of white flowers, and even Palermo seemed moved. But Raquel did not notice; she only had eyes for the man waiting for her, looking devastatingly handsome in a white three-piece linen suit and an open-collared shirt. Beside Sergio Paula bounced up and down in excitement, taking her duties as Best Girl as seriously as a nine-year old possibly could. They exchanged simple silver wedding bands as the sun set behind them, painting the ocean in hues of gold, and then Sergio swept her into his arms for a kiss that threatened to spill over into indecency until a wolf-whistle from Palermo dragged them back to reality. Raquel laughed, embarrassed, and buried her face against Sergio’s shoulder, but he could not bring himself to care. He was the proudest man in the world, and he wanted to show everyone how much he loved her.

Afterwards they moved to the porch and gathered around the big table, where a veritable feast had been laid out. The champagne corks popped and the glasses were filled, before Denver tapped out a drum-roll on the table that made the cutlery rattle. “Speech!” he yelled, and the call was soon taken up by everyone around the table.

Raquel rested her chin on her hand and lifted an eyebrow at Sergio, grinning at his sudden discomfort.

“Er, right,” he mumbled and got to his feet. They fell quiet and looked at him expectantly. “First of all, thank you all for coming,” he began.

Denver rolled his eyes. “Eh Professor, you’re fucking up,” he interjected. “You’re supposed to tell your wife that she looks lovely before you say anything else- Ow!” He scowled at Monica and rubbed his shin under the table.

Sergio frowned, then looked crestfallen. “Oh,” he said, and Raquel took his hand as she gave Denver an annoyed look.

“Ignore him,” she assured her husband, but he was not so easily appeased. He wanted this day to be perfect.

“I’m sorry, but I thought- I always follow the rule that any good speech should leave the most important bit until last,” he explained to her earnestly, then fell quiet as Raquel looked at him adoringly.

“I know you do,” she reiterated and squeezed his hand. “They’re just trying to annoy you – it’s tradition to give the groom a hard time during the speech.”

“Oh,” he said again, plainly baffled by such a silly tradition, and his wife smothered a smile.

“Forget about them, just talk to me,” she said softly, and he nodded gratefully and pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Okay. Uhm. Thank you, Raquel, for teaching me what love really is,” he began, and the table fell silent. It was obvious that he was speaking from the depths of his heart, and no-one dared interrupt him. “Before you, I had no idea what it meant to be loved, or to love someone in return. You accept me for who I am, and you’ve never tried to change me although I’m sure I could do with some improvement. But that’s the thing – you make me a whole person, you make me want to be better. For you and Paula and Marivi, and I’ve never been so happy. And tonight, you are more lovely than ever. I’ll never understand how I got to be so lucky-“

He didn’t get any further, for Raquel jumped to her feet and kissed him to tumultuous cheers. Then she pressed her cheek to his and whispered into his ear, “I’m the lucky one, and I love you more than I can possibly say,” before kissing him again.

When everyone had settled down again Palermo began to rise, and the newly-weds’ eyes widened in alarm. They exchanged a panicky look, fearful as to what might come out of his mouth, but thankfully Nairobi unceremoniously shoved him back in his chair and stood up instead. “A toast to the happy couple,” she announced. “Professor, we owe you everything, and we wish you all the success in this new chapter of your life. Now, I’m sure you’ve planned it out in minute detail,” she said to general laughter, “but here’s one tip for you – a little spontaneity in the bedroom goes a long way towards keeping the relationship fresh.” She winked at him as Tokyo called, “Hear, hear!”

“I must also confess,” Nairobi continued, “that I never thought I would meet a better thief than the Professor. But that is exactly what has happened.” She paused dramatically as the others shared confused looks. “And she is sitting right next to him,” she revealed triumphantly. “Lisbon, I didn’t think it was possible that anyone could steal our Professor’s heart – it was more securely guarded than the gold in the bank of Spain – and yet here we are. And what’s more, you managed to do it in less than five days!” This was met with wild cheers as Sergio’s cheeks turned pink and he gazed at Raquel, who placed a hand against his cheek and gazed right back.

When they showed no inclination to break eye contact any time soon, Nairobi cleared her throat to get their attention back to her. “As I always say, love takes courage. Well, the two of you clearly have that in spades. I mean, what are the odds of a police inspector and the most wanted man in Spain falling in love and making it work?”

Sergio opened his mouth, but she held up a hand. “I’m sure you can give me the exact odds, but I’ll simply go with ‘astronomical’. If I think about the amount of obstacles you had to overcome…” She smiled at them, suddenly serious. “You leave me in awe. Both of you.” There followed a moment of silence as Sergio looked bashful and Raquel blinked rapidly against the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her, before Nairobi gathered herself and continued.

“We all clubbed in to get you a little something.” She nodded at Helsinki who produced a rectangular package from behind his chair with a flourish. The others shared conspiratorial smiles as Nairobi reached out and deftly ripped off the wrapping paper to reveal one of the protester placards, neatly framed. _Professor + Lisboa_, it said inside a big red heart, and underneath, _Stronger together_.

“Oh my God,” Raquel laughed and weaved her fingers through Sergio’s. “Thank you, it’s perfect.”

Nairobi grinned happily. “So here’s to you, Professor and Lisbon.” She hesitated and then smiled softly. “Here’s to you, _Sergio_ and _Raquel_,” she amended, “may you share a long and happy life.”

She lifted her glass and everyone else stood and did the same.

_Hours later_

Sergio leant back in his chair contentedly and watched the festivities swirl around him. The champagne flowed generously and the other men and Tokyo were clearly inebriated, their conversations becoming louder and more boisterous by the minute. Neither he nor Raquel were excessive drinkers, but even he could feel the champagne bubbles buzzing in his blood by now, and he could tell his wife was becoming a tad tipsy as well. She was deep in conversation with Monica, but under the table her hand was warm on his thigh and becoming increasingly bold in its explorations. She brushed against his cock quite deliberately and he suppressed a shudder. Christ, if this continued he would soon sport an erection that would be impossible to hide. He grabbed her hand and saw her smirk openly; yep, definitely tipsy. It was time to turn the tables. He leant towards her and pressed his lips against her ear. “I think it’s time to take this elsewhere, don’t you?” he murmured, before briefly sucking her earlobe into his mouth. Her eyes closed involuntarily and goosebumps erupted over her exposed skin, and he grinned in satisfaction. _Two could play this game, Mrs Murillo_. She nodded, not trusting her voice, and he took immediate action. He got to his feet and clapped his hands authoritatively, and everyone stopped talking.

“It’s getting late – shall we turn in?” he suggested, and Tokyo laughed loudly.

“Heee, the professor wants to go fuck his wife now,” she slurred, and Sergio rolled his eyes even as his cheeks turned pink.

“Crude, Miss Tokyo,” he grumbled.

“But accurate,” Raquel quipped, not quite as softly as she had intended, and beside her Monica pressed a hand over her mouth to hide her laughter. But she took pity on them and rose to her feet, and began to usher the others in the general direction of their rooms on the other side of the house.

They were barely out of sight when Sergio grabbed Raquel’s hand and moved purposefully to their bedroom. She laughed, a low and sensual sound that only spurred him on to move faster. But as soon as he closed the door behind them the significance of the moment seemed to dawn on them both, and they stopped and just looked at each other. They were about to make love for the first time as husband and wife. Suddenly overwhelmed, he could only stare at her, this woman who had become his whole world. She laughed again, more shakily, and reached out to lay a hand against his cheek. “Hello, darling,” she said softly, her thumb caressing his skin, and he turned his head to nuzzle her palm. But he never broke eye contact.

“Hello, love,” he responded, and she took a deep breath.

“We made it, Sergio,” she said in wonderment, and he nodded against her palm.

“Yes we did,” he confirmed, and traced light fingers over the skin of her throat and down her sternum, until they came to rest in the hint of cleavage that peaked out from her dress. “Raquel,” he sighed, her name an endearment, and she turned her back to him and looked expectantly over her shoulder. He got the hint and moved her hair aside to find the zipper, then began to draw it down, slowly revealing more of her golden skin to his hungry eyes. The dress fell down to her buttocks, and he leant forward and traced his tongue down her spine, her hair tickling his face. “You’re so gorgeous,” he blurted, perhaps fuelled to effusiveness by the champagne, but he preferred to attribute it to the overwhelming rush of love that overcame him in that moment. He kissed his way back up until he reached her shoulder and encircled her in his arms. “Breathtakingly, indescribably beautiful,” he elaborated, cupping her breasts and pressing himself against her back.

She made a strangled sound as her head fell back against his shoulder and she pushed her breasts into his palms, seeking the stimulation of his touch. He obliged her happily, rolling the swiftly hardening buds between his fingers as he simultaneously rubbed his bearded cheek against hers. “Yes,” she gasped and pressed her buttocks hard against his length, straining proudly against the confines of his trousers. He felt her shove the dress down and immediately followed her example, briefly parting from her so that they could strip off the remainder of their clothes. In less than a minute he was naked, but still his impatient goddess could barely wait for him to finish. Her hands were on his chest as he kicked off his trousers and then she was in his arms, kissing him with abandon. His hands roamed down her back until he cupped her butt and pressed her tightly against him, causing her to gasp into his mouth. She straddled one thigh and rubbed herself against it, already dripping wet for him, and he nearly lost his mind. Before her, he’d had no idea how mind-blowing it was to be desired with such intensity, and he revelled in it. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, and they tumbled onto it in a jumble of limbs. Neither of them were capable of a single rational thought, they were completely lost in each other, totally consumed by their mutual love and need.

He rolled onto his back and she straddled him, and he bucked up against her involuntarily. Her hair was a wild golden halo above him as she lifted her hips and sank down on him with a blissful sigh. He sat up again, and they kissed once more as they began rocking together. They were so good at this, and he knew he would never tire of the feel of her wet heat surrounding him. His chest hair scraped against her nipples and she moaned, gripping and squeezing him inside her on each thrust. They took their time; both wanting it to last, straining together until sweat glistened on their skin and their breaths came in gasps. Eventually he couldn’t take it any more. “Raquel?” he urged, and in response she grabbed his head for leverage and sped up.

“Yes. Let go, Sergio,” she encouraged, and he met her thrust for thrust as she rode him hard. As they neared the edge of the abyss it became messy and uncoordinated, but they didn’t care. Nothing mattered but falling over that edge together, and he held on for as long as he could, watching her take her pleasure without constraint. No woman deserved it more than she did, and when he finally let go and spurted his seed into her, the sensation pulled her over the edge with him and they clutched at each other, riding out the storm together.

He buried his face in her hair and breathed her in as the aftershocks continued to come, as her internal muscles continued to ripple around him. She clung to him, her mouth pressed against his shoulder, and he ran a soothing hand up and down her back until her breathing calmed. Eventually she lifted her head and looked at him with such devotion that his heart skipped a beat, and when she lifted a hand to run it through his hair the silver wedding band caught the light. They both glanced at it, and then they grinned at each other like fools. They were _married_. He kissed the ring on her finger and folded her hand against his chest, and she leant forward and pressed her lips against his sweetly.

“Stronger together,” she said against his mouth, and he thought his heart would burst.

“Stronger together,” he echoed, before adding, “as long as we both shall live.” He rubbed his nose against hers as she stared into his eyes, and then they sealed the promise with a kiss.

_Fin_


End file.
